Unmasked
by Nico Morrison
Summary: Erik is given a second chance at life by a surprising person. Will he be able to win Christine's love under completely different circumstances? Rating for language
1. Second Chance

_Have you guys missed me? I've missed you all so much!_

_Here's a new POTO fic. This begins just as the movie ends. I'll be drawing from all venues of POTO...ie the movie, the novel, and susan kay's work. It's a little different, a little unique...and was written by me several years ago. I'm reworking it as I go. _

_Please review so I know what kind of reaction this is getting! It helps me create what YOU guys want!_

_-Nico_

* * *

Christine closed Erik's fingers around the sparkling diamond ring she had placed into his hand.

He looked up at her, his hair hanging into his unmasked face.

He hadn't expected her to come back for this brief moment.

Desperately, he made one last attempt to keep her with him.

"Christine," he breathed, tears streaming down his defeated face, "I love you."

She looked down at him, her eyes knitting together in what Erik assumed was pity for the horrible creature standing before her.

Then, she pulled her hand from his grasp and turned away, running back to Raoul, who had already commissioned Erik's sleek boat for their escape.

As the lovers' voices rose softly in harmony against the dank walls of the catacombs, Erik's head dropped.

It was over. It was all over.

* * *

Erik's footsteps could barely be heard against the blanket of snow covering the cemetery grounds.

He sighed, roaming among the drab headstones for hours, feeling desperately alone.

There was nothing keeping him alive anymore. For the first time in his life, he felt truly void of any of the passion that had kept him going for most of his life. Ordinarily, he would vent his anger and frustrations on a piano, etching down the notes that he enjoyed, pushing aside the ones that offended…but now, after Christine had gone, there was not even a hint of musical prowess within Erik's veins.

Suicide had always been an option for Erik. Many times in his younger days he had romanticized the notion of destroying himself and freeing his soul to whatever God had in store for him…yet something had always caused him to stay.

But now, without Christine, without his music…there was nothing left for him.

There was a sort of calming effect that came as a result of his decision. Never again would he have to withstand the horrors of being alone…the terrible nightmare of having no one and nothing to love.

Full of self-pity, Erik had barely realized where he was standing. He looked up, snow falling on his already damp eyelashes.

He was at the base of Charles Daae's tomb.

The realization tore at his heart even harder.

Fleeting images of Christine's porcelain face as she walked up towards her father's tomb…towards Erik…suddenly clouded his already blurry vision. He grasped at his heart and fell to the stone steps, hopeful for a moment that God had taken it upon himself to end his miserable life.

Yet, his heart remained beating, even as thoughts of Christine threatened to rip it from his very chest.

Slowly, his gloved fingers found the small pistol he had tucked within the folds of his cape just before escaping from the mob that had come to kill him.

He should have just stayed…he could have saved a bullet.

The gun was one that Christine had admired on more than one occasion during her brief visits underground. The ivory handle made it especially eye catching. Erik smirked as he ran his fingers along the silver barrel, remembering how Christine's eyes had widened in fear when he had held it up for her to see.

There was something deliciously evil about frightening Christine.

But that was all over, and Christine had not chosen him.

No one ever would.

Erik raised his eyes to the sky, silently praying that his death would be fast and that God would take mercy on him and deliver him to the contentment that was the heaven his mother had told him about as a child.

He leveled the gun to his temple, closing his eyes and smiling.

Just before he was about to pull the trigger, he felt a cold hand come down on top of his.

He opened his eyes, staring up at a man he had never seen before.

"Perhaps you should listen to what I have to say before you do this," the man said, his gentle face smiling.

Erik jumped to his feet, suddenly ready to defend the life he was just about to end.

"Who are you?" Erik snarled. "What do you want?"

The man merely watched him, his eyes lighting up with humor.

"Speak, Sir!" Erik demanded, leveling the gun at the stranger, "Or I'll kill you without a second thought."

The man laughed, raising his arms as if challenging Erik to shoot.

Erik did not need the challenge. He had nothing left, not even a conscious.

He pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession, hitting the man square in the chest all three times.

The smile never once left the stranger's face.

"Have you gotten that out of your system?" The man asked.

Erik's mouth went dry. "But," he stammered. "But I shot you!"

"You can't kill what's already dead."

"Excuse me?" Erik asked.

"Look, friend," the man sighed. "This could go on forever and I don't have much time."

"I'm not your friend," Erik replied.

The man extended his hand. "Perhaps we can change that," he said. "I'm Charles. Charles Daae."

Erik looked at the hand and scoffed. "That's impossible."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "For someone who has lived a lifetime of impossibilities, that's an awfully ignorant thing to say."

"Charles is dead," Erik said dumbly.

"Yes, we established that," Charles replied lightly, pointing to a bullet hole in his shirt. "Remember?"

Erik backed up a step. "Am I dead?" He wondered aloud.

"Not yet," Charles said, moving closer. "Listen, Erik. I have an offer you might be interested in."

"I'm not interested," Erik said, turning away.

"Are you certain of that, Erik?" Charles called after him. "Even if what I have to offer could make you happier than you've ever been?"

Erik stopped, turning to regard Charles, who was smiling once again.

"Ah," Charles said nodding. "Happiness, the ultimate dream."

"Talk quickly," Erik warned. "I'm running out of patience."

"And I'm running out of time," Charles said, the smile finally fading. "I'm here to grant you another chance at life, Erik. A new beginning. A chance to be happy." He paused, looking at the masked man before him knowingly. "A chance to find love."

Erik's eyes flared. "How?" He asked, despite his intrinsic sense to distrust this man.

Charles smiled. "There are more possibilities in this life than you're aware of," he said cryptically. "All you have to do is agree to a second chance."

"You're insane," Erik told the man.

"What have you got to lose?" Charles countered.

Erik remained silent.

Charles sighed. "You're running out of time, Erik," he said gently. "She has already started planning the wedding."

Erik raised his eyes, knowing immediately whom he was speaking of.

_Christine._

"Alright," he said.

"Alright what?" Charles prompted.

Erik sighed. "I want it," he said. "I want a second chance."

Charles smiled. "I was hoping it would be this easy."


	2. Sunburn

_**I'm so glad to see some of you guys back!**_

_**This story, although mostly already written, is going out to a fabulous person whose reviews make her my muse...Erik's Angel. I missed her very very very much. **_

_**If anyone likes MCR, I have some fics on another site I can direct you guys to. **_

_**A rose to anyone who can figure out where Erik's last name came from…**_

**_-Nico_**

**_

* * *

_An unfamiliar pain suddenly radiated across Erik's face. Slowly, he peeled his eyelids open coming face to gleaming face with something he hadn't seen in ages. **

The sun.

He sat up, pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, which were throbbing with pain.

It was then he realized he wasn't wearing his mask.

Frantically, his hand sought out the familiar white covering.

Instead, his fingertips found skin.

Skin that was smooth to the touch.

Erik threw his legs over the edge of an enormous pewter bed set in the middle of an even more lavish bedroom. He stumbled awkwardly as his eyes continued to adjust to the dusty rays of the morning sun.

Something glinted in the far corner of the room, causing Erik to turn and move slowly towards a mirror.

As his eyes adjusted, he felt his knees go weak.

The reflection staring back at him with wide, disbelieving eyes was definitely him, but with one element missing.

He was completely unscarred.

"It's not possible," Erik whispered aloud, backing up until his legs hit the edge of the bed causing him to sit.

Suddenly, the bedroom doors flew open, causing Erik to jump to his bare feet.

A stunningly beautiful raven-haired beauty flounced into the room, followed by two young maids whose eyes were glued to the floor. The woman looked over at Erik, her face puckered into an unmistakable mask of discontent.

She picked up an empty bottle, which was resting on its side next to a half-full brandy glass.

Without warning, she smashed it down onto the shining marble floor.

Erik winced at the resulting sound.

"Have you finally slept off the drink?" The woman demanded, her voice lilting over a decidedly English accent.

Erik blinked. "Pardon me, Madame?"

The woman smirked. "Madame?" She repeated, coming a bit closer to Erik, who backed away. "You are still drunk!" She declared.

"I most certainly am not," Erik said, becoming increasingly irritated by his confusing situation.

"Get dressed!" The woman suddenly commanded. Erik looked down at himself, suddenly becoming aware that he was only wearing very thin silk pajama pants. "You must be at the Opera in less than a half hour!"

"The Opera…" Erik repeated. The woman rolled her eyes.

"Don't tell me you have forgotten, Erik!" She whined. "Father will be extremely disappointed if you don't show up and introduce yourself and the new Patron today!"

"Patron…" Erik swallowed, unable to say anything intelligent.

"Oh God," the woman wailed. "Merry, go get Master Erik some coffee," she said to one of her maids, who bobbed and scurried off. She moved over closer to Erik and pointed a perfectly manicured finger in his face.

"Now you listen to me, Erik," she said angrily. "We both knew that this marriage would carry with it a certain amount of responsibility for you," she spat.

"Wait a moment…marriage?" Erik interrupted.

"No you wait, Erik!" The woman continued. "All I ask is that you act the part of devoted husband and generous patron once in a while…and only in public," she added bitterly. "And my father expects the same. Otherwise," she gently placed a lock of hair that had fallen from her perfect upsweep, "I will be forced to go back to my father and explain what a perfectly horrible beast you truly are! Then what, Erik! No more money for your whores and drink…whatever will you do then?"

Erik regarded the woman before him, unable to come to terms with anything she was saying.

"Silent," the woman mused suspiciously. "It's not like you, Erik. Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

"Where…where are my clothes," Erik stammered, unable to say anything else.

The woman's eyes darkened. "These childish games you play amuse no one," she told him. "You have fifteen minutes."

And with that, the woman left, slamming the door behind her.

Erik stood in the middle of the room, feeling as if he was dreaming.

Something, however, told him that this was all too real.

A light knock came at the chamber door. It opened a hair.

"Master Erik?" Came a meek voice. "May I come in?"

"Yes," Erik said, his voice shaking.

The little maid his…wife…had sent to fetch coffee had returned, her pale face turned away from his as she made silent work of filling a saucer of steaming coffee for him.

Erik watched and took the coffee from the girl with a shaking hand.

Just before she left, Erik called out to her.

"Girl," he addressed her, feeling stupid for not remembering the child's name. "What is your mistress's name?"

The maid looked at Erik, her brows knitted together in confusion.

"Is this another one of your games, Master?" She asked, fear creeping into her voice.

Erik felt a shot of shame spike up his spine. He refused to think about the fact that he had engaged in 'games' with this innocent child.

"No," he told her. "This is not a game. The lady's name, if you please?"

"Athena," the maid replied. "Athena Mansart."

Erik's skin crawled at the sound of his last name.

"Master," the maid addressed him. "Are you alright?"

Erik looked up at the frail girl. "Yes," he said softly. "Yes, I'm alright."

The maid bobbed a curtsey, looking at him curiously one last time before hurrying away.

Erik watched the door close and closed his eyes. "I am definitely not alright," he whispered, moving mechanically towards an enormous armoire he assumed held his clothing.


	3. Patron

**_Last chapter of the day, folks! I hope you like it so far!_**

**_Please review...it's my only reward for this! It keeps me going! Sorry for begging! ;)_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

****

Athena hadn't spoken a word to Erik the entire carriage ride to the Opera House.

He regarded her as they rode. She was most certainly beautiful, but there was coldness to her demeanor that was apparent even to strangers.

She sat rigidly against the velvets and silks of the carriage, her dark hair secured in a spiraled fashion underneath a veiled hat. Her diminutive form was enveloped in folds of blue silk and lace. Her gloved hands were folded demurely in her lap.

She was obviously bred from wealth.

And it was also apparent that her wealth was what drew Erik to marry her.

Bile rose in his throat for a moment, ashamed so far at the life he now found himself in.

"Are you going to be ill?"

The question came from Athena, who was looking at him with disgust.

"No," Erik assured her. "I'm fine."

Athena scoffed.

Soon enough, the carriage rolled onto the cobble stoned drive-up in front of the Paris Opera House.

As the footman opened the carriage door, Erik emerged nervously.

This would be the first time he would enter the Opera House through the front doors.

"Erik!" Athena yipped.

He turned to see his…wife…waiting with her hand extended.

She wanted him to help her out of the carriage.

Awkwardly, Erik took her hand and pulled in an uncouth manner, resulting in Athena colliding into him.

"What's the matter with you?" She whispered harshly, adjusting her hat which had come out of place.

"I apologize," Erik said unapologetically.

The woman was beginning to get on his nerves.

Athena huffed and grasped his arm. "Come on," she said, leading the way. "We're late."

* * *

The Opera House looked exactly the same. Erik inhaled deeply, somehow able to catch the scent of his former lair that lay far beneath his feet.

"Could you breathe with your mouth closed?" Athena whispered up at him. "You sound like a…Monsieur Andre!"

Her voice changed tone mid-sentence from evilly cold to sugary sweet with the approach of the men Erik recognized as the pompous Andre and Firmin, the managers of the Opera Populaire.

"Madame Mansart," Andre gushed, kissing Athena's hand. "How positively _luminous_ you look today!"

"Positively luminous!" Firmin echoed, grabbing her other hand to press a kiss as well.

Erik's stomach lurched. Such were the mindless compliments of the innately greedy.

Not that he was much better…

"Monsieur Firmin, Monsieur Andre, allow me to introduce my husband," Athena was saying, her face smooth and smiling as she extended a falsely loving hand to Erik. "This is Master Erik Mansart," Athena said proudly. "Your new Patron."

Almost immediately, Erik found his hand clasped within Andre's, being pumped furiously by the frizzy haired man. "Master Erik," the older man said. "What an _honor_ it is to meet you!"

"We look forward to hearing all of your brilliant suggestions," Firmin said enthusiastically. "Your wife tells us you are something of a composer as well."

Andre gasped dramatically. "Is it true?"

"Absolutely," Athena beamed. "Erik creates the music of Angels," she informed the managers. Then, looking at him somewhat sadly she added, "it's why I fell in love with him in the first place."

Erik looked at Athena, who in turn quickly blinked and avoided his gaze.

"Well, then you must play for us!" Andre said, clapping a hand on Erik's tuxedoed back. "Come, I shall introduce you to our cast!"

Erik half walked, half was pushed by Andre to the entrance of the theater. With every step, Erik's anxiety level rose.

When Firmin and Andre slapped open the doors to the man entrance to the theater, Erik's senses were completely overwhelmed. The theater company was in the middle of a rehearsal. Random musical notes fell and rose around him…from what Erik could gather it was the music from a new opera he was only vaguely familiar with…seamstresses ran from ballerina to ballerina trying to perfect any snags and tears in their costumes…vocalists warmed up…stage hands fiddled with scenery…

Erik sighed. He was home.

"Attention! Attention!" Andre walked down the aisle towards the stage flamboyantly. "Can I have everyone's attention please?"

Eventually, the noise in the auditorium twittered down to silence. Andre and Firmin climbed onto the stage, followed by Erik and Athena, who shot him a murderous glare as he accidentally stepped on the ridiculous train of her blue gown.

"Everyone, please gather round," Firmin said, motioning with his chubby hands. "Yes, that will do nicely, thank you. As you all may have heard, we have an extremely important announcement to make."

"It seems that we have stumbled upon a bit of good fortune," Andre continued. "Allow me to introduce to you all Master Erik Mansart and his wife, the beautiful Athena Mansart. Monsieur Mansart has been kind enough to take our little theater under his wing. Ladies and Gentlemen, your new Patron."

Immediately, thunderous applause erupted. Erik stood still, bowing slightly only after Athena jabbed him in the ribs.

He knew that the applause was for his money and not for him, but Erik couldn't help basking in the approval of these complete strangers for just a moment.

"We also are pleased to announce that Monsieur Mansart is our very first Patron who possesses musical talent," Andre continued, resulting in a twittering laugh from the cast and crew. "And if he'll be so kind, I know we would all love to sample just a little bit of his talent."

Erik began to refuse, yet at the urging of the managers and the shoving of Athena, he suddenly found himself sitting before the grand piano that rested in the middle of the stage.

He breathed deeply, swallowing hard as he heard the ballerinas behind him talking…saying things like _handsome_ and _beautiful_.

And fueled by this unexpected admiration, Erik began to play.

He wasn't sure where his old life and his new life overlapped, but if anyone recognized the aria he began to play no one said anything.

At first, the music began softly, rising and floating amongst the listeners who were paying undivided attention to the miracle of music unfolding before them.

As his fingers reached the last few bars of "Think of Me," a voice began to join in the melody of the song.

It was a voice that all at once caused Erik to stop playing.

He lifted his head slowly as a new figure came to stand next to the piano.

"I'm sorry Monsieur. I didn't mean to make you stop."

Erik's mouth went completely dry.

There, standing in all of her angelic glory, was Christine.

"Please," she urged, smiling. "Continue."

Erik couldn't pull his eyes from hers. "I've forgotten the rest," he said weakly. "I apologize."

Christine smiled. "Well, you deserve an ovation regardless," she announced, clapping her hands. After a moment, the rest of the cast followed suit and the delicious sound of approval suddenly filled Erik's ears again.

"Monsieur Mansart," Andre said, pulling Christine closer to Erik. "Allow me to introduce our star, Miss Christine Daae."

Christine extended her hand, no doubt waiting for Erik to place the formal kiss upon the back of her hand. "Pleased to meet you," she said sweetly. "I've never heard that aria played with such heart."

Erik merely stared at the woman's hand.

Christine became confused and lowered her hand, looking over at her manager in confusion.

"You must forgive my husband," Athena said, briskly coming to his social error. "I'm afraid business matters kept him up later than usual last night."

Christine smiled again. "I understand," she said brightly. "I often have to force my fiancée to stop working once the sun goes down…otherwise I fear I'd never see him!"

Athena laughed cordially.

Erik's insides twisted.

"Monsieur Mansart, it was a pleasure," Christine said. "But if you'll excuse me, I must warm up my voice."

She curtsied politely, retreating back into the mash of people surrounding Erik.

He craned his neck to watch her go, much to Athena's chagrin.

"Yes, well, we should let rehearsals resume," Andre declared. "We wouldn't want our Patron's money going to support a flop!"

"If you'll just follow me, Monsieur, there are several pieces of paperwork you must look over and sign," Firmin was saying.

But Erik wasn't listening.

He was too busy trying to stop his heart from leaping out of his chest and chasing after Christine.


	4. She

**_Because I love you guys and have gotten some really amazing reviews, I thought I'd post one more chapter today. _**

**_ Don't get too excited...it's just a short little transition chap to give us more insight into the relationships that Christine and Erik both currently find themselves in. _**

**_-Nico_**

**_

* * *

_**

"Did you see his eyes, Christine? I swear, I've never seen a man with such pretty eyes!"

Christine laughed a bit, watching as her best friend stretched out an impossibly long leg on her practice bar.

"He was looking at you, Christine," Meg continued, stretching into another pose. "It's a shame he's married to that awful woman."

"I'm engaged to be married myself," Christine scoffed. "Or have you forgotten?"

"How could I forget?" Meg smiled, coming to rest her hands on her best friends' shoulder. "It's going to be the event of the century."

Christine's eyes darkened slightly. "Yes, well, I suppose you have Raoul to thank for that. I swear, Meg. Sometimes I feel as if everything he does must be an extravagant show." She pulled off her hat, which she felt was ridiculous to begin with. "You would think it would be enough just to marry me."

"Oh Christine," Meg pished. "There are worse things in the world than a man who wants everyone to know how much he loves his bride to be."

Christine forced a smile. "Of course," she agreed. "I'm being silly. It just sometimes feels like so much."

Meg hugged her friend. "You'll be alright," she cooed. "Raoul loves you...and you love him. And once you're married you live happily ever after like those fairy tales you're always reading."

Christine swallowed against the lump in her throat and nodded, breaking from her friend's embrace before Meg could see the tears in her eyes. "Yes," Christine agreed, swiping at her eyes with her back to Meg. "It will be wonderful."

* * *

Athena did not share a room with her husband. 

And for this small fact, Erik was grateful.

Night had descended rapidly on the expansive mansion he shared with Athena. Dinner had been eaten in silence and she had left him for the evening without saying so much as a word.

His bedroom was a mass of marble and silk. Erik had to admit that it suited his taste and there was something comforting about still being himself, even when so much had changed.

A piano rested in the far corner of the room, littered with half smoked cigars and empty, brandy-stained glasses.

It seemed he was something of an alcoholic, he mused, gently cleaning off the dusty piano top.

Slowly, he sat at the piano.

It was strange. Yesterday he had given up his music and was about to kill himself. Today, he had played alongside of Christine again and could not imagine dying without holding her in his arms one more time.

His fingers began to mindlessly plunk out a haunting tune, something that he had not yet composed, but that sounded as if he had memorized it as a child.

His back arched and swayed as his hands and arms worked the ivory and onyx keys. Long eyelashes swooped down over his green eyes as he concentrated. His perfectly smooth black hair bobbed around his strong jaw as his muscular back flexed power into his fingers, bringing the melody higher and higher until it crashed back down and faded into silence.

"What's going on?"

Erik snapped his head in the direction of the voice.

Athena stood in the doorway, her glossy hair hanging loosely around her body. Her curves were visible through her white silken nightgown.

As she walked towards him, her hips swayed seductively.

"Excuse me?" Erik asked. His blood was pounding, partly because of his exertion against the piano, and partly because he had never seen a woman so intimately before. Even when he had watched Christine from behind her mirror, he had the decency to look away when she changed.

Athena came to the edge of the piano, her dark eyes reflecting the light of the sparsely lit candelabra in Erik's bedroom. "You haven't played the piano in years, Erik."

Erik looked down at the piano keys and remained silent.

Athena watched him, inherent sadness in her eyes. "Why are you playing the piano, Erik?" She asked, her voice suddenly rough and biting.

Erik looked up at her. "I don't know," he replied.

"Liar!" Athena shrieked, causing Erik to flinch. Her breath caught on a sob. "Who is she?" She asked quietly.

"What are you talking about?" Erik asked, alarmed.

Athena's angry eyes flashed down at him. "The only time you ever played the piano was before we were married. Before you found out about the money," she sniffed. "Before you started drinking." She lowered her eyes. "I'd wake up in the middle of the night and hear you playing the piano. These terrible, sorrowful songs that would tear into my soul and draw me to you." She clutched at her chest as if she was hearing the music she spoke of. "And I would stand and watch and listen. And you would never say it, but I knew that the music was for me and that you loved me."

Erik listened intently as Athena spoke of a memory Erik did not possess.

"But that was a long time ago," she continued, her voice becoming stronger and more angry. "And as you fell out of love with me, just as I fell out of love with you, the music stopped. So I'll ask you again, Erik. Who is she?"

Erik stood, rising to his full six feet, towering over his tiny wife. "Why should I tell you, Athena?" He asked, his voice dark and deep. "It seems that we have no loyalty to each other any more."

Athena looked up at him, shocked.

Erik's gaze darkened as he regarded her.

"Watch yourself, Erik," Athena said, her voice wavering. "If you cross me, it will ruin you."

"It seems you have already ruined me, Athena," he replied.

Tears fell down Athena's porcelain cheeks just before she turned and walked out of Erik's room, slamming the door on the way out.


	5. Opportunity

**_Good morning!_**

**_Hopefully this chapter will clear a few things up. I like to keep my options open, so things will happen on a purely need-to-know basis in this story. _**

**_No one has guessed the correct origin of the name MANSART, so I will give you a hint. The answer lays within Susan Kay's version of POTO. _**

**_It will take some real detective work to figure this one out. _**

****

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

****

There was something incredibly soothing about the night air.

Erik had been walking for nearly an hour now. After his confrontation with Athena, he had quickly escaped the mansion they shared, hoping to clear his head even just for a moment.

It was a cold night; Erik's heavy woolen coat with sweeping dusters barely kept out the bitter bite of the cold wind, but it was still a more hospitable environment than his so-called home.

Home.

Before long, Erik's walk had brought him back to the steps of the Opera Populaire. Sighing, he began to head towards a hidden back door he hoped would still be there.

It was.

It seemed that while so much had changed in this alternate universe, an equal amount had remained the same.

The door opened smoothly. Erik ducked inside, all at once assaulted by the dank scent of the Opera Populaire's bowels.

Walking carefully over the familiar cracks and crevasses of a section of the lavish theater that was never used, Erik followed the winding passageways to the silent chapel that sat at the very heart of the immense building.

Two or three candles burned lowly, having no doubt been left behind by some of the more devout members of the cast or crew.

Erik raised his eyelids to the forgiving face of a particularly beautiful angel, etched into a stained glass window for all eternity.

It was the same angel that had looked over Christine as she had prayed for the soul of her father in Erik's previous reality.

"You know, I was always here with her."

Although he recognized the voice, it startled Erik. He turned slowly, seeing Charles standing still, looking up at the angel.

"She knew that," Erik told him. "Even if most of the time it was actually me."

Charles smiled, sitting down in a little crook on the other side of the room. "You provided her with a sense of comfort for a time," Charles nodded. "And for that, I will always be grateful."

"You shouldn't be," Erik disagreed. "I deceived her."

Charles nodded again. "Even the best of intentions sometimes hurt people," he said.

"I saw her today," Erik said suddenly. Charles's eyebrows rose, but he remained silent. "I thought for a moment she would recognize me, but she didn't."

"No one will recognize you, Erik," Charles said, almost sorrowfully. "The Phantom of the Opera never existed."

Erik's eyebrows knitted together. "So she will have no memory of anything that happened between us?"

Charles shook his head. "It's for the best, don't you think?"

Erik contemplated. "I suppose," he said, looking over at the older man. "This is not what I expected, Charles."

Charles stood up, sighing. "Nothing ever is," he said. "Humans, at their best, are merely opportunists. Your life now is possibly just as difficult as it was when you were scarred."

"If not more so," Erik grumbled.

Charles smiled. "Athena," he said, mentioning the difficult part of Erik's new life.

"Yes," Erik breathed. "She's horrible."

"It wasn't always so," Charles said. "There was a time when Athena loved you more than her own life."

"I can't remember such a time," Erik replied. "But she does."

Charles nodded again. "Second chances do not come without their challenges, Erik. It would upset the very fine balance of things if everything you wanted was delivered to you on a silver platter."

Charles placed a cold hand on Erik's shoulder. "Besides," he said, warmly smiling. "Isn't my daughter worth the effort?"

Erik looked into the man's eyes. "Why are you doing this for me, Charles? All those years…when Christine begged to see you…begged for you to appear…you didn't. Yet now…you come to help the monster that…"

"You are not a monster," Charles interrupted.

"Perhaps even more so now than I was!" Erik exclaimed. "I've married a woman whom I don't love…for her money…I indulge in the drink…whores…"

"Challenges," Charles soothed. "All challenges."

"Insurmountable obstacles!" Erik roared. "She has a fiancé…I am married…this life is just as cursed as the one before it!"

Charles smiled again. "Yet you are alive. She is alive," he turned, looking back up at the angel. "And instead of wasting your time trying to figure out a past that no longer belongs to the man you are now, you should, for once, look to the future."

Erik pushed his hair from his eyes. "How?" He asked lowly.

Charles shrugged. "Opportunity," he said cryptically.

And Erik watched as Charles Daae's smiling face dissipated into vapor and then nothingness.

Erik sank down into a morbid window seat, placing his suddenly throbbing head into his hands.

"I'm either insane or dead," he said aloud to himself.

"You don't look to be either to me."

For a moment, Erik did not raise his head. He was afraid that if he looked, the owner of that voice would disappear just as quickly as her father had.

Yet, evil desire and fraughtful curiosity got the best of him.

As he raised his eyes, he took in every inch of Christine Daae, who was standing before him in a tightly corseted black mourning gown. Golden brown locks of hair framed her rosy cheeks. Her pink cheeks matched her lips, which were curved up into a polite smile.

"Are you alright, Monsieur Mansart?" She asked, her perfectly arched brows coming together in concern.

Erik stumbled over his own tongue. "Yes," he managed.

Christine smiled. "You're out late," she commented. "Is something on your mind?"

Erik couldn't answer, the shock of being so close to Christine too much for his brain to process.

She blushed, mistaking his silence for irritation. "I'm sorry for being so intrusive," she said quickly. "It's none of my business. I'll leave you to your prayers."

Christine turned to go, her gown sweeping against the stone floors.

Suddenly Erik's brain kicked into gear.

She was leaving…

"Christine!" He said, perhaps with a bit too much urgency. The woman turned, her eyes slightly frightened.

"Monsieur?" She questioned.

Erik forced himself to take on at least a fragment of composure.

"You are not intruding," he managed, motioning awkwardly with his large hand towards the prayer alter. "I was finished."

Christine smiled, effectively breaking his heart.

He peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "You're out late too," he observed. "Have you come here unescorted?"

Christine looked over her shoulder as if someone was following her. "Yes," she whispered, sounding like a child who was afraid of being caught mid-prank.

"That's fairly dangerous for a woman, isn't it?" Erik admonished, slowly falling into the warped father-like role he had created for himself in a previous life.

Christine shrugged. "I suppose it is," she said. "I know Raoul would agree with you."

Erik couldn't help notice the slight twinge of irritation in her voice as she mentioned her fiancé.

He cleared his throat. "When is your wedding?" He asked.

Christine sighed, lighting a candle. Erik was unable to pull his sight from the column of her neck as the flare of orange light illuminated her skin. "In a month," she said, sounding decidedly detached. She rubbed her hands together and straightened up. "If it were up to me, I'd rather wait."

"Why?" Erik asked softly.

Christine shrugged again. "It all feels very rushed," she said, raising her eyes to him. Then, smiling, she added, "But I suppose you've already been through this and know what I'm talking about."

Erik nodded slowly.

For a moment, the two stood in silence. Erik could feel Christine's eyes on him but was unable to look directly at her.

"You seem terribly familiar to me, Monsieur," she said, squinting her eyes a bit. "Are you certain we've never met before?"

Erik was caught off guard. He shook his head slowly. "I would have remembered you, Christine."

Christine continued to look at him, her face softening.

After a few awkward minutes, she cleared her throat.

"I should be going," Erik said, suddenly very aware of his close proximity to Christine.

She looked genuinely disappointed. "I suppose you should be," she agreed. "No doubt your wife is missing you."

She smiled sadly.

"It was a pleasure to see you again," Christine said, offering her hand.

This time, Erik took it slowly into his own, raising it to his lips and pressing a tender kiss on her smooth skin.

Goosebumps simultaneously rose on her arms.

"Goodnight, Christine," Erik said.

"Goodnight," she replied, her voice a mere whisper.

He turned to go and was just about to the stairs when she called him back.

"Monsieur Mansart?"

Erik turned, lifting an eyebrow. Christine rang her hands nervously.

"I wonder if you would mind terribly if I asked you a favor," she said quickly. "I don't know if this is something you ordinarily do, but after hearing you play today I simply must ask."

Erik nodded for her to continue.

"It seems I find myself without an accompanist," she said. "And I was wondering if I might be able to employ you for a few lessons."

Erik's heart leapt.

"I understand if this is too much to ask," Christine rambled.

"No," Erik interrupted,a bit too quickly. He forced the excitement from his voice. "It's not too much at all, Madame. I would be honored to play for you."

Christine smiled. "Thank you," she said earnestly. "Shall we meet here tomorrow? Say around three pm? Unless that's too soon...but the theater will be empty then…and I really would like to work on my main aria…"

Erik nodded. "Three pm," he echoed.

"I'll be counting the minutes," Christine said and then blushed. "Goodnight, Monsieur."

"Please, call me Erik."

"Erik," Christine corrected herself.

Erik dipped his head to herand then slipped up the stairwell before his legs gave out under him.

As he emerged onto the dark Paris streets, he heard Charles's voice carried on a particularly stiff wind.

_"Opportunity…"_


	6. Leashes and Lessons

_**So the prize goes to QUIET2885 who guessed first that MANSART was the last name of the priest who gave Erik his namesake when his own mother wouldn't in Susan Kay's novel.**_

_**Well done! Many of you got it as well, but QUIET was the first!**_

_**I always thought that Erik should have taken the priest's full name instead of his mother's last name. **_

_**The woman didn't deserve to have her surname live on with Erik. **_

_**Okay, down from my soapbox and on with the show!**_

_**-Nico**_

* * *

****

It seemed that Athena was less interested in Erik's endeavors outside their home than he expected her to be.

As he walked past the home's enormous library, Athena barely looked up at him from her seat as she sipped tea with a female friend Erik was not familiar with.

"Are you going somewhere, Erik?" Athena called disinterestedly just as he passed the doorframe.

Erik backed up, looking at the harsh lines on his wife's face. "I'm needed at the Opera," he said simply.

"When will you return?" She asked, sipping her tea delicately.

"I don't know," Erik replied truthfully.

Athena nodded.

And with that, he walked out of his mansion.

* * *

"You should keep a shorter leash on him, Athena. There are hundreds of women simply dying for a chance with the beautiful Erik Mansart."

Rebecca Devry stirred her tea delicately and took a sip, peeking at her friend over the rim of the cup.

Athena turned her head slowly. "Really, Rebecca. Don't make me sick."

"It's true, Nina," Rebecca insisted. "You should hear some of the women talk about him."

"So let them have him," Athena said, rising demurely from her seat. "They'll soon realize that beauty is the only good attribute he possesses."

"Oh Nina," Rebecca smiled knowingly. "Don't pretend you don't still secretly burn for him."

"Becca!" Athena admonished. "Please!"

Rebecca rose and stood beside Athena. "You can't fool me, Athena Mansart," she said. "I've known you since you were a child."

"And you're just as irritating now as you were then," Athena told her snippily.

Rebecca's eyes narrowed. "He's making a fool of you," she said bluntly. "You allow him to rove the streets like a dog, rutting with any whore he sees."

"Your language is disgusting," Athena said.

"But you know I'm right," Rebecca pointed out. Athena's head dropped a bit. "Poor Nina," Rebecca cooed, placing her arms around Athena's shoulders in an awkward embrace. "Tied to someone she doesn't love forever."

Athena shrugged Rebecca off of her. "I'm not tied to anyone forever," she said bitterly.

Rebecca blinked. "But what about your father?" She asked. "If you break off your marriage to Erik, you lose all your money." The red-headed woman plucked at an invisible piece of lint on her silk dress. "Wasn't that the agreement?"

Athena's face twisted into aggravation. Rebecca was certainly the closest thing Athena had to a friend, yet at times the incredibly rude woman was almost too much to bear.

"Yes," Athena hissed. "I must remain married to Erik in order to keep the fortune."

"How sad," Rebecca said, sitting back down on a plush chair. "Tell me again why your father was so insistent that you marry Erik. It's so tragically dramatic."

Athena looked out a window, her eyes scanning the countryside but not really seeing anything.

"My father knew Erik's mother when they were younger," Athena said, having told the story to Becca countless times. "Before Erik's mother died, she made my father promise to look after Erik." Athena looked back to her friend, who was once again enrapt in the story. "And he did. He sent Erik to the finest schools, provided him financially with everything he needed." Athena's voice drifted. "And then, when the time came for me to marry, Father saw no better situation then for me to take Erik as a husband."

"I wonder why your Father felt such loyalty to Erik's mother," Rebecca mused. Her eyes suddenly went wide. "Do you suppose they were lovers?"

Athena shrugged. "Whatever they were, it has ruined my life."

Rebecca frowned. "Things could always be worse, Athena," she said, actually sounding genuinely kind. Then she laughed. "After all, with the way Erik drinks, how long could he possibly live?"

Athena looked over at Rebecca slowly, here eyes suddenly brightening with the seed of an idea.

"Athena," Rebecca scoffed. "I was joking."

"I know you were, Rebecca," Athena said, once again turning to gaze out the window. "I know you were."

* * *

"You're holding the final note too long," Erik said, plunking out the last notes of Christine's aria fiercely. "Listen…it should be short…chopped off…like this…" He plunked the note out three more times.

Christine tried again, this time hitting the last note perfectly.

Erik smiled, brushing his hair from his eyes. "That was it," he said, in awe of the soprano's amazing vocal abilities. "The audience will think they've been serenaded by an angel."

Christine blushed. "Erik," she said. "That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

Erik held her gaze, allowing his eyes to scan her beautiful face for a moment longer than was appropriate.

"I'm sure that's not true," Erik said, finally looking away.

Christine regarded the mysterious man before her as he began playing the introduction of the aria once more.

As he concentrated on the music, Christine concentrated on him. He was built powerfully…like an athlete but with more grace. He was taller than most men…certainly taller than Raoul…and there was a barely hidden savagery about him that both enticed and frightened Christine.

His hair was clipped just below his ears…slightly too short to be stylish but rebelliously seductive. At the beginning of their lesson, he had been wearing a full three-piece suit, complete with a red silk cravat at his neck. Gradually, his attire became more subdued. The cravat was tossed carelessly aside, along with the constrictive black jacket. The starched white shirt underneath had come undone at the base of his throat, allowing Christine to peek down and see tanned, chiseled muscles.

The music stopped.

"You missed your cue," Erik pointed out. "Twice."

Christine blushed an even deeper shade of red. "I'm sorry," she said. "My mind was…elsewhere."

Erik smiled.

"Perhaps that is enough for today," Erik said, suddenly rising from the piano. "I didn't think it was possible to improve on perfection, but you proved me wrong."

Christine smiled broadly. "You are an amazing teacher, Erik. It's a shame you didn't make a career of it."

"The universe had other things in store for me," he replied, his voice thick and mesmerizing.

"What do you suppose the universe has in store for me, Monsieur?" Christine asked, her voice slightly playful.

Erik noted that she had moved closer to him, and was now so close he could see the flecks of gold within her irises.

"Wonderful things," Erik whispered to her. "Only wonderful things."

Christine looked up at him, wetting her lips subconsciously.

Erik could see it, the lust that suddenly filled her eyes.

"That's good to know," she said softly.

For several moments, they stood in the flickering light from the oil lamps.

"Thank you, Erik," Christine said earnestly, suddenly backing up a step. "I should go now."

Erik nodded, the lump in his throat making it impossible to speak.

He watched as she turned to walk away, stopped, and then turned back.

"Shall we continue this lesson tomorrow?" She asked hopefully.

Erik nodded again. "I shall count the minutes," he said, echoing something Christine had said the night before.

Christine smiled and turned, this time leaving.

Erik sat down on his piano bench.

If he hadn't started playing the piano again, he might have heard his name as it escaped Christine's lips in a breathy, unconscious sigh as she left the Opera Populaire.


	7. Followed

_**ACK! CRAZY WEEK AT WORK!**_

_**I'll try to get another chapter up today. Please review. I think you guys will really enjoy where this is going….**_

_**Also, I barely ever write about rape, but there is a scene here that might be touchy to some. Use your discretion. **_

_**-Nico**_

* * *

****

Three Weeks Later

"I don't understand, Christine. What could this…man…be teaching you that you don't already know?"

Raoul's voice was frustrated, but still gentle.

"He's a genius, Raoul," Christine replied, pulling her hair up into a demure bun. "We should be grateful he even agreed to work with me."

"Grateful?" Raoul scoffed. "Your performances were perfect before you started these lessons."

Christine stood from her vanity after applying a bit more rouge than she usually did. "Perfection takes constant work, Raoul," she told him. "The moment I start thinking that I cannot improve, my career is over."

"It seems like a waste of time to me," Raoul said skeptically. "And I don't particularly like the idea of my fiancé working in such close quarters…at night… with a man whose past is questionable at best."

"Oh Raoul," Christine pished. "You make it sound as if I've been doing something unseemly. Is that what you think of me?"

Raoul moved closer to her, placing a warm hand on her cheek. "You know I don't," he said softly, playing with a tendril of hair that had already escaped its confines. "I suppose I'm just a jealous fool."

Christine smiled, feeling suddenly guilty. "I won't be too late, Raoul."

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and quickly retreated down the steps of the humble home she shared with Meg and Madame Giry.

She sighed to herself, realizing that Raoul would probably be waiting at the home when she returned.

Sometimes, he was far too protective.

Early in their courtship, Christine had adored the way Raoul had fawned over her, making certain she was never without an escort. She loved how upset he would become if someone had upset her. She reveled in the fact that Raoul was a powerful man who would quickly and efficiently deal with anyone who ever wronged her.

But now…

It made Christine feel like a child.

And like a defiant child, Christine made the decision to walk the quarter mile to the Opera Populaire instead of taking the carriage Raoul had commissioned for her.

It was early evening; she was to meet Erik at 7pm on the stage of the Opera. Christine couldn't help the giddy excitement that always somehow appeared in the pit of her stomach before a lesson with Erik.

Each lesson began with Christine walking in on Erik as he somberly played a tune on the magnificent piano that rested in the perfect center of the stage.

Whether he noticed her or not Christine could not be sure, but inevitably she would listen tohim play, greedily consuming every note that poured from his long fingers.

She smiled to herself more widely as she walked, unable to stop herself from doing so.

Less than two blocks from the Opera, Christine suddenly became aware that someone was following her. She sped up her pace a bit, distraught to discover that her follower did the same.

Panic began to pump the blood into Christine's legs. Before she knew it and without even looking behind herself, she broke into a run.

The follower did the same.

The Opera was less than 20 yards away. If she could just make it to the door, she was safe.

Yet the thick layers of crinoin, lace and silk that her skirts were comprised of weighed her down. Just as she came upon the block before the Opera, she felt strong hands grasp her around her waist and pull her into a dark alley just alongside of the Theater.

Her scream was cut short as her stalker slammed her thin body against a brick wall, covering her mouth with his hand.

"Don't make a sound," the stalker slurred, his breath reeking of whiskey.

Christine's eyes went wide as the man used his body to pin her to the wall, freeing up one of his hands to begin to undo his belt.

Involuntarily, Christine bit down on the calloused hand covering her mouth.

The man yelped in pain, and while he was momentarily stunned Christine managed to scream andfree her bodyfrom his.

Her escape was short-lived, however, as she felt the force of the stranger's body collide with her own, knocking her to the ground. After a brief struggle, Christine found herself once more pinned beneath the man, his breath coming in panting, saliva ridden puffs of air.

"What do you want?" Christine asked desperately. "If it's money, I can pay you!"

The man sneered, revealing a row of rotten, yellowing teeth.

"I don't want yer money," the man drawled, pressing his horrible mouth to hers in a stale attempt at a kiss.

Christine shrieked again, turning her head to the side.

The man slapped her, his rough hand coming down hard on her cheek.

She tasted blood.

"This will be a lot easier for the both of us if ye don't fight," the man said, once again fumbling with his belt.

Again he slammed his mouth to hers.

Christine whimpered and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the rough scrape of the man's beard against her face.

Then, without warning, the man went limp.

Christine opened her eyes and stared right into the vacant abyss of a dead man's stare.

Just as she opened her mouth to scream, the man's body was flipped off of hers.

Blinking, she looked up.

There, clad in all black, a bloody dagger in his right hand at his side and a look of rage on his face, was Erik.

"Are you alright?" He asked her desperately, coming to pull her up into his arms.

Christine nodded. "Y-Yes," she stammered. "Y-yes, I'm ok."

Erik looked down at the small woman, who was staring up at him with a mixture of fear, disbelief and thankfulness on her face.

And then suddenly, she fell into his arms, sobbing against the soft silk of his cape.

Erik instinctively wrapped his arms around her, soothing her hair back with his hand.

"It's alright," he cooed. "You're safe now. You're alright."

After a moment, Erik lifted Christine into his arms, cradling her to his chest protectively.

Still she cried, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his neck.

Erik held her tighter.

There was only one place he could think of to go that provided unbiased comfort to those who needed it most.


	8. Where Night Is Blind

_**I hope everyone is having a good weekend! **_

_**Here's a little Memorial Day gift!**_

_** -Nico**_

_**

* * *

**_

"Watch your step," Erik warned a much calmer Christine, who was walking wide-eyed behind Erik. "The ground is extremely uneven."

"I had no idea these passageways were even down here," Christine said. "How did you know about them?"

Erik smiled inwardly. "I suppose I've always been curious about what I could not see," he said cryptically. Christine looked up at him in confusion. "Firmin and Andre mentioned that the crypts of the Opera Populaire were once used for storage," he lied. "After hearing that, I had to explore."

"Looking for anything musical, no doubt," Christine teased, knowing how reverently Erik held anything having to do with his craft.

Erik turned to her, extending his hand as they came closer to a particularly dangerous passageway. Christine placed her hand in his, a shock of warmth shooting up her arm at his touch.

Erik pulled his hand away, mistaking her short gasp of air for pain. "I'm sorry," he said quickly.

Christine bit her lip, too ashamed to reveal that she had gasped out of pleasure, not pain.

Soon, the familiar earthy smell of water pierced Christine's olfactory system. As they turned a final corner, Christine let out a small shriek of excitement.

"It's a lake!" She exclaimed, running to the edge of the water like a child seeing the ocean for the first time. She spun around, her hair whipping her face as she faced Erik. "Did you know this was here?"

Erik winced as he caught sight of the bruise that was rapidly spreading across her cheek. "Yes," he nodded. "I did."

Christine turned back to the water, squinting to see what lay on the other side.

Erik followed her glance. The lair was in much the same shape it had been when Erik had first arrived as a child in his previous life. A thin layer of dust covered what were once gilded props meant for lavish productions. Fabrics of all sizes and textures were draped haphazardly in every direction, waiting to be transformed into a ballerina's costume. Props, scenery, discarded flats and more littered the small peninsula on the other side of the lake.

What caught Erik's eye, however, was the enormous piano he had learned on as a child.

Of course, in this life, that never happened. The instrument sat on the other side of the lake, neglected and almost certainly out of tune.

"It's like a graveyard," Christine said, rubbing her arms as she shivered. "It's just so sad."

Erik wordlessly unhooked his cape, quickly draping it around her shoulders.

He too had felt the sadness of this place. However, instead of depressing him, Erik had found comfort in the safety the lair provided. Why live above ground, he had rationalized, when he so clearly belonged down here with other precious items others had been too naïve and too self-serving to protect?

"Is there away to get to the other side without having to swim?" Christine suddenly asked.

Erik looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. The Christine he was used to wasn't so brave.

He couldn't help but assume her bravery stemmed from the absence of a lurking stranger that appeared in mirrors and shadows, calling himself an angel.

"There's a boat," he said softly gesturing with his hand towards the sleek, dusty prop boat that Erik had used to cross the lake thousands of times in a previous life.

"Can we…I mean may I…" Christine stammered.

Erik motioned for her to lead the way and then helped her into the boat. As she sat, a mushroom of dirty air erupted around her.

Christine sneezed furiously.

"I'm afraid it's a bit dusty," Erik said apologetically.

"That's alright," Christine said, sniffling and pulling at the stuffy collar of her shirt. Finally, exasperated, she unbuttoned the top four buttons of the blouse and inhaled deeply, revealing the milky column of her neck.

Erik noticed, blushed, and looked away.

"I'm sorry for not being proper," Christine said, not really sounding apologetic. "But you have no idea how binding women's clothing can be."

Erik laughed.

"I think that's the first time I've heard you laugh," Christine said, grasping the sides of the boat as Erik pushed off from shore.

He looked down at her, his eyes intense. "Does the sound offend you?"

Christine shook her head. "Quite the opposite," she said, offering a smile. "I like it."

Eventually, the boat once again scraped land. Erik deftly disembarked, holding out his hands to Christine, who took them and helped her up. Her body collided softly with his, yet she did not immediately pull away.

Erik still held her hands in his, looking down into her crystalline eyes. Her bottom lip quivered.

"Are you too cold?" Erik asked, his breath a mere whisper.

Christine shook her head. "No," she replied. "I'm perfect."

Erik smiled. Slowly, he raised his hand, gently moving a piece of her hair that was hanging in her eyes. "Yes," he agreed. "You are."

The moment was balancing on the head of a pin. Erik cleared his throat and pulled away, moving towards the piano.

Christine inhaled deeply, trying to sooth her nerves, which seemed to jump with every movement Erik made.

He gently plunked out a few notes. To his complete surprise, the instrument was perfectly in tune, as if someone had been taking care of it all along.

"I can't believe it works," Christine said, coming to stand beside the large mahogany piano. "You'd think that the humidity alone would have destroyed it."

Erik nodded. "This piano was expertly crafted," he looked over at her. "It was someone's life's work," he said, his fingers dancing down a scale. "Every string, every key…every nuance came from the mind of a true artist."

Christine's heart broke at the passion in Erik's voice. She ran her hand lovingly along the top of the piano. Never before had she considered an instrument anything special, yet now, as she watched Erik's eyes greedily consume every nook and cranny of the piano, she truly appreciated it.

She watched as Erik plunged into a soft, dark tune…one she had never heard before. "Erik," she addressed him softly.

"Mmm?" He replied, quickly becoming lost in the music.

"Why did you bring me here?"

Erik's fingers stumbled on a note, indicating that the question had caught him off guard. Yet, he simply shrugged. "There's a certain comfort in solace," he said, lifting his dark lashes to her. "Don't you think?"

Christine smiled weakly, thinking about all of the times she had fled to the Opera Populaire's cathedral, just for a few precious moments of silence.

"From what does my teacher need comforting," Christine asked, her hand still absent-mindedly tracing circles in the piano top.

Erik smiled and looked back down at the ivory keys. "Life," he said, his voice barely audible. "Just life."

Christine watched as Erik played, becoming more and more enrapt with the melancholy notes that echoed off the dank walls.

"When I was younger, I lost my father," Christine said suddenly. "He was my entire world. And when he died, I thought I would die too; just shrivel up like a plant in winter."

Erik looked up at her, his fingers beginning to slow on the keys.

She smiled sadly. "It was the music that brought me back to life. Each time I sang, it brought me closer to him. Each time I met a new challenge, I was sure it made him proud." She closed her eyes for a brief moment. "And each time the audience applauded, I was sure I heard his voice."

By now, Erik had stopped playing altogether.

Christine moved closer to him, the bottom of her skirts sweeping up plumes of etheral dust around her as she approached him.

Erik stood, watching as she stopped in front of him. She slowly took one of his hands in her own and brought it slowly to her lips.

Erik watched, his body tense.

"These past weeks have meant more to me than I can begin to express," she said softly. "For the first time in a long time, I feel whole. And for that, I own you a debt of gratitude."

Erik nodded, his senses being assaulted with the sight, smell and touch of her.

"Do you believe in soul mates, Erik?" Christine asked suddenly, her voice a whisper. "Do you believe that we as humans wander around this earth...incomplete until we meet out other half?"

Erik swallowed. "I don't know," he said honestly. "Do you?"

Christine bit her lip. "I didn't use to," she said, barely audible.

And suddenly, Erik could not take it any longer.

Without thinking, he reached out and grasped Christine, wrapping one strong arm around her waist and interlocking the fingers of his other hand in the mass of curls at the back of her head.

Christine gasped with surprise, but did not pull away. Instead, she found her arms grasping about his shoulders, desperately pulling his muscular form closer to her.

A growl tore loose at the back of Erik's throat, years of wanting pumping through his veins, causing him to hitch a hand under the back of Christine's knee, hoisting her up onto the top of the piano so he could more easily attack her mouth with deep, fire-laced kisses.

Christine momentarily lost sense of time and space, instead focusing on the hot trail Erik was leaving down her throat and across her collarbone. Modesty forgotten, Christine wrapped long, stocking-clad legs around Erik's waist, clinging to him and whimpering his name, caught up in the intensity of the moment.

Erik pulled away from a kiss to place his forehead against hers, his breath coming in heavy pants. "I'm sorry," he rasped.

Christine slowly fell back down to reality, a part of her wishing she could ignore the direness of the situation and simply fall into Erik without consequence.

But as she looked straight into his golden eyes, she felt a pang of guilt.

She was engaged to be married .

And Erik already was.

Christine pushed him away a bit, wiping at her mouth as Erik walked away, his hands running anxiously through his hair.

She slid off the piano, her feet coming to rest silently against the dusty ground. Quietly, she adjusted her clothing, which was just slightly rumpled.

Erik turned to face her, his heart ripping apart as he did so. "Christine," he said, his voice tighter and more formal than usual. "I think it's best we return above ground."


	9. The Edge of the Earth

**_I love you guys! Seriously! The reviews you all leave make me so so happy...I can't put into words how much they mean to me!_**

**_Here's an important chapter...watch the rating on the next one!_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

Meg stared at Christine, her mouth agape. "You did _what?_" She asked, her voice a bit loud.

"Shhhh," Christine said, quickly running to close the library door. "Raoul is downstairs…he'll hear you!"

Meg scoffed. "He's too busy talking with Mama to care what we're doing," she reasoned, coming to grasp her best friend's hands. "Now tell me every detail, Christine!"

Christine blushed, feeling like a giddy schoolgirl. "I don't know how it happened," she gushed, feeling ashamed at the slight giggle in her voice. "One moment we were talking and the next," she looked over her shoulder and said in a whisper, "we were kissing!"

Meg bit her lip. "Christine, you're so lucky!"

"Lucky?" Christine squeaked. "I've betrayed Raoul!"

Meg nodded. "Yes, but it's not as if you're already married," she pointed out.

"I gave him my word, Meg," Christine retorted.

Megignored her."What now, Christine? Will you go back to Erik?"

Christine shivered. "You make it sound as if I'm carrying on some torrid love affair with him."

Meg winked. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Christine, but you are."

"Be quiet, Meg," Christine said, taking out her overwhelming emotions on her best friend.

Meg ignored her, sitting down a little less than delicately on an overstuffed reading chair. "Tell me what it was like, Christine," she plead, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them to her chest.

"What what was like, exactly?" Christine asked.

Meg rolled her eyes. "Erik," she said, exasperated. "What was it like kissing the most handsome man I've ever seen?"

Christine sighed, suddenly getting a far-away look in her eyes. "It was like sunshine and a thunderstorm all at once," she said softly. "It was like walking to the brink of the earth and nearly falling off. It was like tasting a piece of forbidden fruit."

Meg's mouth went dry and her eyes grew large. "Christine," she whispered. "You're in love with him!"

Christine scoffed, coming out of her trance-like state. "Hardly," she replied, her voice shaking a bit.

"Oh yes you are," Meg said, coming to stand in front of Christine again, grasping her hands desperately. "And you absolutely must tell him!"

"Tell me what?"

Christine and Meg jerked their heads to the side to see a smiling Raoul walking towards them.

Christine dropped her friend's hands. "Raoul," she said, her voice teetering on hysterical. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I'm stealthy," Raoul said, coming towards his fiancé and dropping a chaste kiss on her cheek. "Like a cat."

Christine giggled nervously, pulling slightly away from him.

Raoul did not seem to notice. "So what must you absolutely tell me," he asked, obviously having heard the last of Meg's words.

Christine bit her lip, words escaping her.

"Christine has finished learning the main aria," Meg said quickly, coming to her best friend's rescue. "She knew you would be proud to hear that."

Raoul clapped a hug around Christine's shoulders. "Wonderful, my darling!" He exclaimed. "I suppose I was wrong to doubt that teacher of yours!"

Christine winced inwardly at Raoul's mention of Erik.

"Oh yes," Meg said wickedly. "Monsieur Mansart is absolutely amazing."

Christine shot her an evil look.

Meg winked back.

"I was actually just coming to discuss Monsieur Mansart," Raoul said. Christine's stomach tightened.

"Oh?" She asked nonchalantly.

"I daresay I'm embarrassed we haven't made him feel more comfortable," Raoul continued. "I've spoken with my parents and we've agreed that the least we can do to show our gratitude is have him over for a meal."

Christine all but stopped breathing. "I don't know, Raoul," she said, forcing herself to sound calm. "Monsieur Mansart isn't exactly the most social person…"

"Nonsense," Raoul pished. "I've already sent out an invitation to him and his wife, Athena."

Christine paled.

"Have you?" She asked weakly.

"Indeed," Raoul nodded. "They should receive it today."

Christine looked over at Meg, whose thin shoulders rose in a helpless action. "How wonderful," she said, sounding as if nothing was wonderful at all.

* * *

Athena hurried into Erik's music room, her face more animated than Erik had ever seen it. In her hand was a crisp white piece of paper, which she was waving excitedly.

"Erik," she addressed him as she brushed towards the piano. "It seems all the time you've been spending with that little tart has finally paid off."

Erik's eyes darkened. "Do not speak of her as such, Athena," he warned.

Athena childishly stuck her tongue out at him. "We've been invited to a dinner reception at the De Changy home," she said, waving the paper again. "This Friday," she scanned the calligraphy on the paper, "to celebrate 'the impending success of the Opera Populaire's premiere female star,'" she read, making a face.

Erik swallowed, hoping Athena wouldn't notice the warm blush peaking up from his starch-white collar.

"You may tell your little prodigy that we will happily accept the invitation," Athena said.

"I don't know if I'll see her again before Friday," Erik said, trying to sound indifferent. "Perhaps you should send word back via mail."

Athena placed her hands on her hips. "You've worked with the girl nearly every day for three weeks," she said. "And now you refuse to work with her once we've gotten this invitation? That's simply bad form."

Erik placed a hand to his temple. "Please, Athena," he said. "Could you take your caterwauling elsewhere?"

Athena's mouth fell open. "How dare you!" She exclaimed. "No one speaks to me like that!"

Erik looked up at her. "I believe I just did."

Athena's face grew red. "Now you listen to me…"

Erik stood, cutting her off. "I don't believe I will, Athena," he said smoothly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to see to." He motioned towards the door. "I trust you can see yourself out?"

Athena's mouth opened and closed.

And then, suddenly realizing she held much less clout than her husband, she left the music room in a huff.

Erik watched the door slam behind his wife.

Slowly, he moved over to a deep oak desk, pulling out a piece of parchment and some blood red ink.

Like a man possessed, he took out a quill, dipping it in ink and scribbling his message furiously.

_Tonight, midnight, the chapel. _

He folded the note and quickly sealed it with what he assumed was a Mansart family wax press. Then, he rang for one of his wife's dutiful maids.

Merry quickly appeared at the door, somewhat shocked to see that the man of the house and not Athena had summoned her .

"Sir?" The little maid squeaked, bobbing a curtsey once Erik caught sight of her.

"Merry," Erik addressed her, moving closer to the young woman. "I have a mission of the utmost importance for you."

Merry's brows furrowed together as he handed her the envelope.

"You must take this to the Giry residence," Erik continued, closing the girl's small hands around the parchment. "Do not let anyone see its contents except for Miss Christine Daae."

Merry blinked. "The diva?"

Erik briefly closed his eyes. Christine was anything but a diva. "Yes," he replied, too exasperated to argue with the maid. "It is imperative she gets this today," Erik said, clasping a hand over Merry's. He felt sick to his stomach as he caught a twinge of lust fill the young woman's eyes. "Can you promise me you will do this?"

Merry nodded furiously. "Yes, Sir," she replied. "I'll go straight away."

Erik smiled. "Thank you, Merry," he said earnestly.

The woman bobbed another curtsey and rushed from the music room, elated over her exciting mission.

She held the envelope tightly as she ran to her quarters, quickly donning her faded-red cape, complete with hood. Hurriedly, she ran towards the main lobby, hoping to make her exit unnoticed by anyone.

Especially…

Athena.

Merry skidded to a stop, her worn shoes nearly colliding with the billowing skirts of the lady of the house as she stood in the doorway, preventing Merry's quick escape.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" Athena asked the young maid, her voice dripping icicles.

Merry clutched the note tighter to her chest. "Master Mansart has asked me to deliver something," she said, too frightened to come up with a lie. "I promised I would do so immediately."

"Oh?" Athena asked, an eyebrow raised. "To whom are you delivering this very important letter?" She asked sarcastically.

Merry bit her lip.

"To Master's pupil," she said quietly. "Mademoiselle Daae."

Athena held out her hand for the letter.

Merry considered her situation.

Refusing to hand over the letter would probably mean her immediate termination.

And as horrible as living with and working for Athena Mansart was, living on the streets was worse.

So, reluctantly, she handed Athena the envelop with a shaking hand.

Athena opened it carefully so as not to upset the wax seal.

She scanned the paper quickly and then refolded it and handed it back to Merry.

"Deliver Master Masart's precious letter," she said coldly.

Merry curtsied and rushed from the home.

Athena watched the young maid leave. "Oh Erik," she said under her breath, a thin smile curving up the sides of her mouth. "You are so very stupid."


	10. Erik's Angel

**_Okay, you don't REALLY have to mind the rating. Not yet, anyway. I got ahead of myself. :)_**

**_Happy reading!_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

****

Erik fumbled with the red silk at his neck, undoing the third crooked knot he had tied.

Exasperated, he tugged sharply at the fabric, throwing it down atop his ridiculously lavish wardrobe vanity, dropping his head into his hands as he often did when trying to quell his nerves.

"It doesn't matter what you wear," a familiar voice informed him. "She's too blinded by your light to notice something as frivolous as a tie."

Charles Daae leaned against the doorframe of Erik's enormous bathroom, smiling as always.

"Charles," Erik addressed him brusquely, once again having a go at the stubborn cravat.

Charles walked behind Erik, smirking as he caught his ghostly reflection in the vanity mirror. "That's the worst part of being dead," he quipped, motioning to the now outdated suit he wore. "We are simply not up on the latest fashions."

Erik stood, brushing past Charles.

"That was funny," Charles complained. "Are we not in a laughing mood today?"

"Not at all," Erik said, quickly selecting a long black coat from his wardrobe.

"Going somewhere?" Charles suddenly downshifted. "My, my," he said, his voice teasing. "It's awfully late to be heading out…"

"You know where I'm going, Charles," Erik said stiffly. "Was there something you wanted?"

"Such a tone!" Charles chided. "Surely you have a few moments for me, Erik."

Erik paused, looking at the shadowy man expectantly.

"Thank you," Charles said. "I've come with a warning," he said, his voice suddenly becoming serious.

"What sort of a warning?" Erik asked, his curiosity now peaked.

Charles smiled. "Would you look at that? I've suddenly become useful again," he jibed.

"Charles," Erik said, his voice carrying a warning tone.

"Your actions tonight will not go unnoticed," he said, serious once again. He reached into the folds of this suit jacket and produced a small, silver key. "Take this."

"What is it?" Erik asked, looking at the tiny key in the palm of his hand.

"It will open the locks to the manager's office upstairs," he explained quickly. "Bring Christine here instead of the chapel."

Erik looked at the man.

"Who knows?" he asked darkly.

Charles remained silent for a moment.

"Charles, tell me," Erik demanded.

Charles's eyes went soft. "The first rule of a secret rendezvous is to never map out your plans in writing, my dear boy."

Erik cursed under his breath. "Damn that Merry," he hissed. "And damn Athena too."

Charles nodded. "You must watch yourself, Erik," he said solemnly. "Just as in your former life, this life holds no guarantees."

Erik slipped the key into his pocket. "I understand," he said, feeling bad that he had been so curt with his very own angel earlier. "Thank you," he said earnestly.

Charles smiled. "You're welcome."

Erik looked thoughtful for a moment, his hair hanging into his eyes as he lifted his head to look at the ghost. "May I ask you something, Charles?"

"Of course."

"This will actually be the second time I've asked you," Erik said quietly. "Why are you doing all this for me?"

Charles merely smiled.

"It's a quarter to midnight," the ghost replied. "And as luck would have it, Christine is running late." He looked up for a moment, as if listening for something. "If you hurry, you can beat her carriage to the Opera."

Erik nodded. "Thank you," he said again.

But Charles had already gone.

* * *

Erik felt like a stalker as he watched Christine's carriage pull up to the Opera Populaire. Luckily, the streets of Paris were empty, save a random vagabond or prostitute.

Certainly no one of importance was watching the dark cloaked man who waited patiently for the sleek black carriage to pull up to the Opera's steps…

Yet, that is.

Erik threw a bag of coins to the driver of Christine's carriage.

"You were never here," he said to the young driver sternly.

The driver nodded and looked away as Erik opened up the door to Christine's carriage.

"Erik!" Christine exclaimed, shocked to see him waiting for her.

"Come," Erik said, extending his hand. "Quickly; we are being watched."

Christine's face paled as she quickly grasped his hand and allowed herself to be pulled by Erik, barely noticing the break-neck speed with which the carriage tore away.

* * *

Christine was sure Erik could hear her heart pounding against her chest as they crept silently through the darkened hallways of the Opera Populaire.

She knew that beneath her feet slept nearly a hundred stage hands and cast members, yet here, up on the main floor of the theater, it felt frighteningly desolate.

"Erik," she whispered, following him up a narrow stairwell past the lighting booth. "Where are we going?"

He turned back to her, pressing a long finger to his rosebud lips.

She bit her bottom lip, hoping that it was too dark for Erik to see the heated blush on her cheeks.

Finally, they came to a large oak door Christine recognized as the Managers' office. "You'll never get in," she whispered. "They keep it locked up."

Smiling devilishly, Erik pulled the silver key from his pocket.

"Where did you get that?" Christine asked.

"A friend," Erik replied quietly.

With just a turn of his wrist, the door easily unlocked.

"After you," Erik whispered, sending a chill down Christine's back.

Christine hurried in with Erik behind her.

She jumped a bit when he closed the door, allowing them to fall back into darkness.

Erik brushed up against her, clasping her hand in his as he led her to the back of the offices, having stalked around these large rooms in search of manuscripts and supplies dozens of times in his previous life.

Once in the back room, Erik lit an oil lamp so that it burned dimly.

"What's going on," Christine asked once she could make out Erik's features as they were bathed in the orange glow of the lamp. "Who is watching us?"

"Athena," Erik said, not seeing any reason to hold the truth from Christine.

Christine nodded. "She found out about us," she said glumly.

Erik chuckled. "Us?" He asked. "What about us?"

Christine bit her lip. "Well…er…the other night…when…um…we…"

"Kissed?" Erik supplied, his breath raspy.

Christine held her breath as he moved a bit closer to her. "Yes," she nodded. "When we kissed."

"Athena does not know about that," Erik said.

"Are you certain?"

He nodded. "Even if she did, it would have no bearing on my decision to meet you tonight."

Christine looked up at him. He was looking down at her with the same dark intensity he had carried just before he had kissed her.

"Why did you want to meet me tonight, Erik?" Christine asked, her voice tight in her throat.

Erik brought his hand to her face, gently tracing the outline of her cheek with a piano-callused finger.

"Perhaps I couldn't wait until Friday to see you again," he said softly.

"Erik," Christine said, moving his hand from her face. "We can't."

She turned from him, biting her right thumbnail.

Erik followed, placing his hands on her shoulders, allowing his large hands to run down the sides of her arms.

"Can I ask you something, Christine?" He whispered into her ear.

Christine's eyes slid closed as she nodded.

He turned her around gently, seeing the tears that were forming in her eyes.

Gently, he placed a finger beneath her chin. "When I kissed you, why didn't you pull away?"

Christine closed her eyes again, pushing the tears down her cheeks.

"Because," she whispered. "I wanted more than anything to taste you."

Erik's heart lurched at her candid reply.

"And do you regret your actions?" He asked quietly.

Christine wiped a tear from her face.

"The only thing I regret is letting the moment end," she said, now sobbing.

Before Erik knew it, his lips had found hers again, stifling the small shriek of joy that tore at the back of her throat as she lifted herself shamelessly into his arms.


	11. Another's Arms

_**This chapter will piss you all off and make you want to strangle Athena.**_

_**That is its intent. ;)**_

_**I'm attending a wedding this weekend, so there may not be an update from me until monday. Hopefully, I'll have another chapter for you guys tomorrow, but otherwise, you'll have to wait til next week!**_

_**Please review so I have something to make me smile! I'm having a rough day!**_

_**-Nico**_

_**I reposted this chapter...thanks to **_bobmcbobbob1 **_who caught a major error...christine is NOT married to Raoul...yet...teehee...I accidentally wrote "husband"_**

**_oops. _**_**  
**_

_**

* * *

**_

Erik's breath had not come evenly since Christine had embraced him behind the locked doors of the manager's office an hour earlier. Now, as he watched the dark carriage take her away from the Opera Populaire, he exhaled heavily, hoping that no one had seen their 'secret rendezvous' after all.

His mind was reeling as he walked back to the home he shared with Athena. It had been so easy, this time around, to bring Christine under his spell. So simple to fall in love with a beautiful young singer who had no idea that the man she now found herself intoxicated with was actually a murdering, deformed monster in a former life.

So effortless to change the course of a life that was headed steadfastly towards a marriage to Raoul deChangy.

His short chuckle at his good fortune puffed out in a cloud of fog against the night air. No promises had been exchanged between he and Christine…no words of love or longing...divorce had gone unmentioned and no engagements had been called off..butall the elements were in place.

Yet, hanging on the outline of Erik's decidedly elated mood was a dark cloud of guilt. Was all of this just another elaborate deception on his part? Would he ever be able to fuse together his past life and his new one, when they were obviously worlds apart?

Subconsciously, his long fingers went to the side of his face where a heavy white mask used to rest, covering his deformity, protecting him from the world.

There was no such protection now.

His mansion stood imposingly tall before him as he climbed the marble stairway to the entrance, which he was surprised to find unlocked. Equally surprising was the soft glow of candlelight coming from the front parlor.

His curiosity peaked, Erik walked calmly towards the light.

Athena was sitting…or rather lounging…on a dark-colored settee against the far wall of the room.

"Hello," she greeted him.

Erik removed his hat and coat, casting them carelessly aside, knowing that a maid would place them properly in one of his many closets in the morning. "Athena," he greeted his wife cordially. "It's late."

Athena drew herself into a proper sitting position, paying no mind to the fact that the silk nightgown she had chosen to wear was dipping dangerously below her collarbone.

She swirled a brown liquid in a larger than necessary glass, taking a demure sip. "I was just about to point out the same thing to you."

She was antagonizing him, Erik suddenly realized.

"Did you find comfort in someone else's arms tonight, Erik?" She asked him pointedly.

Erik did not answer.

Athena laughed lowly and rose to her feet. She walked calmly towards him, her hips swaying languidly as she moved.

Despite his inherent distrust and general dislike of the woman, Erik could not help watching the liquid movements of her body as she approached him.

She peered up at him, her lips playing along the edge of her glass as she took another small sip. "I can't blame all the other women," she said softly. "You're as beautiful as any man could possibly be."

Erik's stomach lurched at the compliment.

This was not the Athena he was familiar with.

Without taking her eyes from his, Athena deftly poured another glass of brandy from the service tray just to her left. With a cat-like grin, she held the glass to him.

Erik wrapped his long fingers around the glass, taking special care not to brush Athena's fingertips in the process.

He was unsuccessful.

She turned from him, sashaying to the side to light another candle as he took a long, much needed gulp of the brandy.

Almost instantly he felt the alcohol's soothing effects.

"It's good, is it not?" Athena asked, simultaneously filling his glass once again.

Erik nodded, taking another hearty gulp.

Athena smiled, seemingly pleased that he was pleased.

"What's the all about, Athena?" Erik asked suddenly, irritated that he was already slurring his words.

Athena shrugged innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about, Erik. Can't a wife simply enjoy her husband's company and wish to make him comfortable?"

Erik scoffed, wondering why he was suddenly struggling with maintaining his balance. "You're up to something," he garbled.

Athena took another sip of her brandy, smiling as she watched her husband stumble towards a chair.

"Probably," she admitted, knowing full well that Erik would have no memory of this conversation.

Within a few moments, Erik's eyes slid closed and his hand loosened its grip on his glass, causing it to come crashing down to the floor.

Athena stood, placing her own brandy glass down. Slowly, she walked over to where her husband now slept deeply. She waited a moment, ensuring that the sleeping powder she had mixed into his brandy had enough time to fully take hold of him.

When she was satisfied Erik would remain asleep for a while, she rang the servants' bell, not caring what time of night it was.

Within minutes, two disheveled, sleepylooking maids appeared in the parlor.

"Master Mansart has indulged beyond his capabilities once again," Athena informed them, adding a hint of exasperation to her cold voice. "I need your help in bringing him to bed."

"Right away, Madame," the older of the two women nodded. "We'll bring the Master to his quarters immediately."

"No," Athena said suddenly. "Not to his quarters." She smiled, her eyes slitting closed just a bit, making her look more evil than she already did.

"Madame?" The maid questioned.

"Bring him to my rooms," Athena directed. "Leave him in my bed."

The maids exchanged a brief glance. Their Master and Mistress hadn't shared a room in nearly a decade.

Yet neither questioned the command.

No one ever questioned Athena Mansart.

* * *

Raoul's mother loved to entertain. No one in all of Paris could rival Angelica DeChangy's God-given gift of hosting a party.

The main dining room of the DeChangy house was decorated in beautiful pink, purple and blue pastels, shimmering silvers, delicate lacing and flowing ribbon work that had taken nearly three days and 20 staff members to assemble.

Angelica walked through the dining room, nodding her satisfaction. It was to be an intimate dinner, with only a few members of the Opera Populaire's staff attending in addition to Erik Mansart and his wife, Athena.

"Have you obsessed over the place settings enough, Mother?"

Angelica turned to see her youngest son, Raoul, walking towards her with a teasing smile.

"Not nearly enough," Angelica replied, welcoming her son into her arms. "I'm still anxious over the size of the salad plates."

Raoul laughed and placed a kiss on his mother's cheek. "Everything looks beautiful," he assured her. "Once again, you've outdone yourself."

"Thank you, darling," Angelica said, pleased.

"Now come away from the dining room," Raoul said, offering his arm to the delicate woman. "Your guests will be arriving soon."

* * *

Erik's brain pounded against his skull with every jolt of the carriage. Athena watched, obviously amused by his pain.

"You should learn when to put down the bottle," she advised.

"I don't even remember picking it up," Erik grumbled, pinching the top of his nose in an effort to relive some of the pressure that was hovering there. "And besides, I've never heard of a hangover lasting for more than two days.

He had woken said two days ago in Athena's boudoir, his clothing suspiciously removed and replaced with a red silk robe he hadn't even been aware he owned.

No explanation had been given to him as far as what had transpired between he and his wife while he was in her bed, but the crude insinuations Athena had been dropping over the past 48 hours gave him some idea.

He was sick with grief over the entire situation, but determined to purge it from his mind as he had no memory of anything.

If he couldn't remember it, it never happened…

Right?

When the carriage finally, mercifully stopped, Erik jumped out without waiting for the doorman. Like a good husband, he helped Athena from her seat, allowing sunlight to glint off of her unnecessarily abundant jewelry.

As she clung to his arm, Erik led her to the doorway, ringing the bell.

The door swung open with the help of an elderly butler, revealing that they were the last to arrive.

From his vantage point in the entryway, Erik could see Christine standing dutifully beside her fiance, laughing politely at something he had said to Monsieur Firmin, who was obviously already drunk.

When she glanced in his direction, her face immediately reddened, her eyes dropping to her feet.

This, Erik thought, would prove to be the most difficult evening of his new life…

So far.


	12. Announcements

_**I would have posted this yesterday, but Fanfic was being surly...I couldn't upload...**_

_** I apologize for any formatting issues in this chapter...hopefully it won't take away from the story...**_

_** The next update will be on monday as I am away for a wedding this weekend!**_

_**Enjoy!**_

_**-Nico**_

_**

* * *

**_

As much as Erik despised the woman, he had to admit that Athena was excellent in the role of his demure, wealthy wife. As they sat down to an impressive dinner with the DeChangy family, the managers of the Opera House, Raoul and Christine, Athena laughed when appropriate, sipped her soup with the utmost poise and never once faltered in keeping up with the conversation, which had inevitably turned to music.

"Mademoiselle Daae's voice has improved tenfold," M. Firmin was saying.

"It is no doubt the direct result of your skillful tutelage, Master Mansart," M. Andre added.

"My husband has a gift," Athena said, placing her pale hand on top of Erik's. She looked up at him sweetly.

To any outside observer, it appeared the couple was very much in love.

Christine looked away from the scene, trying to hide her breaking heart from everyone by reaching for her wine glass and taking a stiff gulp.

Erik cleared his throat, discretely pulling his hand from underneath Athena's. "Mademoiselle Daae is the one with the gift," he said, his deep baritone reverberating off of the highly polished room. "I simply helped her to harness her stunning power."

He lifted a glass in Christine's direction. She met his eyes with hers, which were brimming with crystal tears.

She looked back down at her hands before anyone saw. "Master Mansart," she said, her voice tiny. "You flatter me."

"You deserve more than flattering, Christine," Raoul suddenly piped in, his smiling face oblivious to the underlying tension in the room. "You are a musical genius."

"Hardly, Raoul," Christine muttered, embarrassed under his always over-the-top way of expressing a notion.

"It's true," he insisted. "A toast, to the Opera Populaire's finest shimmering star!"

Glasses were raised and clinked, but Christine barely noticed. She was too busy watching Athena's hand fall possessively over Erik's once again.

"I see no better time to make an announcement," M. Firmin said, standing as the toast died down.

"Announcement?" Angelica asked, intrigued.

M. Andre stood as well. "We saw no more appropriate venue to make this announcement, seeing as how we are currently surrounded by what is surely the backbone of the Opera Populaire."

"What announcement?" Raoul asked.

"Such an announcement will be talked about for months to come...by patrons, staff and society..." Firmin began, caught up in the dramatics of the situation.

"Monsieur," Erik interrupted, his deep voice carrying a curt tone. All eyes turned to the normally quiet man. Erik softened his tone. "The announcement, if you please."

Firmin cleared his throat, obviously irritated by having his performance cut short but in no place to say so. "Andre and I have come to a decision," he began. "As you all know, we have been struggling to acquire the rights to Aida for some time now." He took a deep breath. "I'm happy to say..."

"We got the rights!" Andre exclaimed, stealing Firmin's thunder.

The dinner party applauded.

"But that's not all," Andre said, excitedly waving his hands for silence. "We would also like to announce..."

"That we would like Miss Christine Daae to play the lead!" Firmin interrupted, giving the now scowling Andre a taste of his own medicine.

All of the guests applauded except Erik, who gently nodded his approval to Christine, who was being embraced by Angelica.

"This is marvelous news!" Angelica declared, clapping her hands together.

"Stupendous," added Raoul's father, who up until now had looked mainly interested in his dessert. The prospect of having an incredibly wealthy actress marry his son and bring more positive light to the DeChangy name, however, was more interesting than his now melting sorbet. "We must have a dance!"

Perfectly timed, the small orchestra Angelica had hired for the evening struck up a jaunty tune.

"Christine," Raoul said as they rose, "Perhaps it would be best fitting for you to share the first dance with your incredible teacher."

Christine's brow furrowed, surprised that Raoul would give up an opportunity to show off his polished waltz.

Yet, Raoul was infuriatingly proper, and his gesture gained approval from the older members of the dinner party.

"And if you don't mind risking it," Raoul said, approaching Athena with an outstretched hand, "I'd be more than honored to share a dance with you, my lady."

Athena, who had been looking at Christine with daggers in her eyes since Raoul suggested Erik dance with her, smiled politely, suddenly intrigued by the opportunity to dance with a new, decidedly handsome partner.

"It is I who would be honored," Athena said, dramatically dipping into a curtsey before taking Raoul's arm as he led her to the dance floor.

Angelica winked at Christine as her husband, who once again bore the look of an incredibly bored man, led her to the dance floor.

Christine stood before Erik, her eyes lowered to the floor.

Erik cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable with his proximity to Christine. Something about it seemed inherently wrong, even if they weren't touching.

"I suppose we should dance," Christine said lightly, raising her eyes to his. "I mean, everyone is expecting it."

Erik nodded. He extended his arm, trying to ignore the warmth of her hand as it touched him.

Gently, he led her to the highly polished dance floor. The music had morphed into a slower dance, forcing partners to come a little closer to one another.

Christine looked nervously towards Raoul, who was properly leading Athena around the dance floor. The pretty woman's head occasionally fell back in boisterous laughter, her thin neck and cascading curls obviously delighting Raoul, who had never been one to ignore beauty.

Christine looked up timidly at her own dance partner. Erik was looking straight ahead, his strong jaw clenched as if he was holding back a torrent of curses. His hand was pliant at her back and he subconsciously held her close to his body.

Close enough for Christine to feel his heart thumping spastically.

"You have a very pretty wife, Erik," Christine said quietly.

Erik looked down at her for the first time since they began their dance. "Yes," he agreed. "Unfortunately, that is where her assets end."

"Then why did you marry her""

Christine"s question was laced with a sort of venomous poison, audible only to Erik.

He closed his eyes briefly, his breath coming in a tight sigh. "I don't remember," he said honestly.

"Then perhaps that is a lesson to me," Christine whispered. "How quickly you forget your actions."

Her words hurt, but Erik felt deserving of such treatment. Increasingly, he felt trapped...more so than he had even as a child, fenced in by iron bars, courtesy of the traveling circus he had run away to.

This, however, was much worse.

As he danced with the depressed Christine in his arms, the wheels of his mind began to turn. He felt no loyalty to Athena, besides the fact that he, as a man he wasn't truly, had married her. The only reason he was here...the only reason he had agreed to a second chance...was to have Christine.

So why wasn"t he doing anything about it?

He looked down at Christine again,anxious that the chords of the song were coming to and end. "Christine," he said desperately. "I must tell you something."

Christine looked up at him, the urgency of his tone captivating her full attention.

"Not here," Erik said. "When all this nonsense is over with, I want you to come back to the theater. Do you remember how to get to the lake?"

Christine thought for a moment and then bit her lip. "I believe so," she said. "Why, Erik"what is this all about""

Erik looked around the room. "I...I cannot say now, Christine. Please, promise you'll meet me, tonight."

Christine looked up at him. "I don't know, Erik," she whispered. "I don't think I can bear being alone with you"" she trailed off, tears once again springing to her eyes. "I don't think I could bear it...knowing that you"ll return to Athena's arms."

Erik's heart wrenched. "Please meet me," he repeated, his eyes burning intensely as the music ended. "Please."

Christine stepped away from him as Raoul approached.

"Christine," Erik said, a last, desperate plea.

"Alright," she whispered. "Midnight."


	13. Intentions

**_This would have been posted this mornin, but I'm having trouble uploading...anyone else experiencing this?_**

**_Hope you guys like this one..._**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

The bowels of the Opera Populaire were just that…stinking, dirty, narrow passageways slicked in the grime and muck fitting of an underworld labyrinth.

Christine Daae had been lucky enough to live a live of moderate luxury...

A life that did not include traipsing around dangerous territory in the middle of the night.

But although she heard (and felt once or twice) the scurry of rats near her feet, she pressed on, the image of Erik desperately begging for her to meet him etched in her memory.

What she was doing was positively scandalous, that much she knew. Not once during her three year courtship with Raoul did she meet with him much past sundown...

let along sneak out of her modest bedroom in Madame Giry's house to meet him in the middle of the night.

Yet, Erik need only ask…with those pleading eyes and that desperate tone…and here she was.

She muttered a curse as her gown caught on a particularly jutting piece of stone, ripping the thin fabric up to her hip, nearly causing her to fall onto the damp stones. Her right handtightened aroundthe torch she held…her only source of light as she tried to remember a familiar turn or crook in the wall.

Her shoes were discarded after a second stumble. Next came her white stockings as they became heavy with the puddles she walked through.

Damn modestly, she told herself mentally. She had already tarnished it by agreeing to this venture in the first place.

Finally, she caught the sound of water lapping lightly at a shore.

The lake.

She rounded one final corner and stopped in her tracks.

He was already there.

* * *

ONE HOUR EARLIER

Erik paced the floor of the chapel, running his hands through his hair with occasional anxiousness.

After fifteen minutes like this, the person…or rather the spirit...he was waiting for finally materialized.

"You're treading on dangerous waters, Erik," Charles said.

"Hello Charles," Erik replied coolly, even though inwardly he was relieved to see the man.

"Why are you risking not only Christine's reputation but her _life_ by asking her to meet you here?" Charles demanded. Until now, he had not seen the man agitated.

"She will be careful," Erik assured the frazzled entity.

"Regardless, these midnight meeting must cease, immediately," Charles said. "I will not have my only child parading the streets at night like some common…"

"I intend to reveal my intentions to Christine tonight," Erik interrupted.

Charles raised an eyebrow. "And what intentions might there be, Erik?"

"I intend for her to leave this place at once," Erik replied, straightening his fashionable collar. "With me."

Charles laughed sardonically. "And you are certain it will be that easy, are you?"

Erik stared back at the man. "If it isn't, I plan to fight for her until I win."

"You haven't yet begun to fight, Erik," Charles said tiredly.

"I have been doing nothing _but_ fighting my entire life!" Erik suddenly roared, his voice painfully bouncing off the chapel walls. "Besides the rare moment I find myself in your daughter's arms, I have known nothing but struggle. Nothing but hatred and contempt! And for years, Charles, I thought that the unhappiness I experienced was the direct result of my face…but no…that was only a small fraction of the problem…because without Christine…scars or no…I am disconsolate."

He took a deep breath, the effort of his emotion leaving him reddened and sweaty.

"You of all people know this, Charles," he continued. "Because if you didn't, you wouldn't have offered me a second chance."

Charles stood speechless, his vapid eyes swirling with the semblance of tears.

Then he moved closer to Erik. "You won't give up until you have her, will you?"

Erik shook his head. "No," he replied simply. "I won't."

Charles smiled. "Then go to her Erik," he said, a bit sadly. "Go and fight for her."

Erik remained silent for a moment, watching the ghostly figure as it turned to leave.

"It _isn't_going to be easy, is it Charles?" He asked. The spirit turned, his eyes dark but his lips smiling.

"No," he replied. "Although at first it might seem so."

"I don't suppose you could give me a little more detail here," Erik asked.

Charles shook his head. "I've said too much as it is."

Erik nodded and watched as the swirling mist before him evaporated.

Then, without further hesitation, and with the blessing of Christine's father, he headed towards the lake.

* * *

"Have you been waiting long?"

Christine's bell-like voice made Erik turn around sharply.

Her breath caught in her throat as she caught sight of him. Dressed entirely in black, he appeared imposing…impossibly strong…and slightly frightening.

How a man who possessed such unbridled power could create such delicate music was beyond her.

"No," Erik replied. "I only arrived moments ago."

Christine stayed at the entrance of the lake, knowing that the more distance she placed between she and Erik, the more she would remain in control of the situation.

Something about being close to him…about touching him…destroyed her sensibility.

Erik noted her tattered skirt and the absence of stockings…the fact that her hair had escaped the confines of proper conformity and was not tumbling down her back in torrential curls…all indicating that her trip underground had been challenging...and she had no doubt encountered many an opportunity to turn around.

Yet she had come.

"What's all this about, Erik," she asked suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. "You're effectively ruining my reputation."

Erik lowered his eyes in a hidden smirk, marveling for a moment how alike father and daughter really were.

He raised his gaze back to her. "There are things in this life that are meant to happen, Christine," he said cryptically, stepping closer to her. "Events we experience...grief we suffer…happiness we celebrate," he stopped about six feet from her, "people we meet."

He moved again, this time only halting when moving forward would have meant knocking Christine over.

From here, he could see her frantic breath coming in tight inhales and short exhales. He could see the flush of her cheeks that was brought on merely by his presence. He noted the way she subconsciously licked her lips, preparing herself fora kiss she wasn'tcertain would come.

Gently, he placed a finger under her chin, "I was meant to come into your life, Christine," he whispered. "You were _meant_ to be in mine."

Christine's eyes shimmered with the inevitable tear.

Erik smoothed her hair from her forehead, taking time to caress each cheek. "I do not want to be your teacher," he said, causing her brow to furrow. "Nor do I wish to be patron of that ridiculous Opera House." Then quietly, he added, "Nor do I wish to be married to Athena."

Christine hitched on a sob.

"I would sacrifice my world," Erik continued. "I would give it all up and then do it all over again," he placed his hands on either side of her face, "all for you."

Christine placed her own hands over his. "What are you saying, Erik?" She managed, now fully crying. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I love you," he said, stubborn tears forming in his own eyes. "I love you and need you…with only me…forever."

Christine closed her eyes in equal parts elation and depression. "You're married," she sobbed. "You're married…and Raoul! I'm engaged to Raoul!"

"Then run away with me," Erik replied intensely. "Tonight…leave with me tonight!"

Christine pulled his hands from her and turned her back to him. "I…I can't," she stammered. "I can't."

Erik ran his hands through his hair and then moved behind her, placing his strong hands on her shoulders. "Do you love me, Christine?" He whispered into her ear. When she didn't immediately answer, he repeated the question.

"Do you love me?"

Christine allowed herself to be turned around by him. She lifted her eyes to see his face, which was creased in desperation.

She took a deep breath.

"Yes," she shuddered. "With all my heart."

Erik moved to embrace her, to kiss her in pure jubilation.

He was stopped by Christine's hand. "I love you," she repeated, "but I cannot leave with you."

Erik's face fell. "Why?"

Christine inhaled deeply, a rasping, sobbing breath. "Because Erik," she said. "Think of the terriblescandal! And it wouldn't just be our own names sullied! Think of everyone involved! Even the Opera itself stands to suffer!"

"Damn the scandal!" Erik roared. "Damn Athena, damn Raoul…damn _everything_! It doesn't matter…_nothing_ matters except for _this_!"

With that, he crushed her into his arms, kissing her feverishly, reveling in the enthusiasm with which his affection was returned.

When he pulled away, Christine's eyes had glazed over with longing and sadness. "Give me one night," she said quietly. "One night to think."

Erik moved away, leaving her cold, suddenly feeling extremely uncomfortable. He had honestly expected her to leave with him, even with Charles' warnings.

He nodded, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. "If you decide to come with me, meet me at the chapel tomorrow after supper," he said, sounding uncomfortably formal.

And then, slightly dejected, he turned down a previously unseen passageway, leaving Christine to crumple under the weight of her choice.


	14. Just One Day

**_Don't hate me after this chapter! _**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

The cloaked figure raced through the streets of Paris, its black hooded cape twisting and swirling in the cold air. Short puffs of air emerged from under the hood of the figure, evidence of the intensity with which it was running.

The servant's entrance of the Mansart household was inconspicuously tucked behind a large lilac bush at the rear of the mansion. The figure quickly entered the home, pulling the hood off to reveal sweat-soaked curls.

Merry took only a moment to look at her reflection in a shining pot before moving quickly on silent feet to the library, where her mistress had instructed she meet her.

Expecting her maid, Athena sat comfortably on her overstuffed chair, sipping some sweet-smelling tea.

When Merry appeared at the library entrance, Athena summoned her to come in and close the door behind her.

"Well?" Athena asked the out-of-breath maid.

"You were right," Merry confirmed. "They are lovers."

Athena rose, more aggravated at the choice of her maid's wording than at Erik's actions. This had not been the first time he had carried on an affair outside of their marriage…she was certain it wouldn't be the last.

But the thought that he was breaking the sanctity of their marriage with that Daae girl…who was to be married to the elusive DeChangy family…was an insult too great for Athena to bear.

"They met beneath the Opera," Merry continued, taking her Mistress's silence for an expected detailing of her detective work. "And he told her that he loves her. He wants her to run away with him."

Athena's eyes snapped up. "And did she agree?"

Merry shook her head, unnerved by the flash of anger in Athena's eyes. "She asked for a night to think," she said quickly. "He told her to meet him in the chapel after supper tomorrow if she would agree to leave with him."

Athena's back was to the maid, but if Merry could see the older woman's face, she would probably have run out of the library in fear.

So this was Erik's plan, Athena mused scathingly. He would run off with the little Daae girl and leavehis wifealone, disgraced to all of society. Athena would find herself without the financial support of her father, forced to surrender all of her luxury…

It was a thought Athena could not tolerate for one moment longer.

Her saving grace, however, was, in fact, the Daae girl. She seemed to be struggling with her decision. After all, if she truly loved Erik, wouldn't she have run off with him on the spot? Perhaps not…if there was even an ounce of doubt in her mind…

"Madame?" Merry asked, having been standing in uncomfortable silence for at least three minutes.

Athena turned around, forcing her face to remain blank. "Thank you for your assistance, Merry," she said formally. Then, waiting a beat she asked, "would you like some tea?"

Merry looked at Athena suspiciously. Never in her nearly 7 years of employment by Athena Mansart had she ever offered her anything, let alone a cup of tea from the Mistress of the House's delicate tea set.

The small maid looked at the steaming tea, which seemed particularly inviting after following Christine through the cold, dank underbelly of the Opera Populaire.

Slowly, she approached the tea settings, mildly ashamed that her tiny fingernails were stained with the juice from the wild berries she had picked for Athena's morning breakfast.

Athena handed her the small teacup, smiling strangely as she did so.

Merry paused for a moment before bringing the cup to her lips. "Thank you, Madame," she said softly, gulping a sip of the sweet tea.

Athena watched as Merry's face suddenly fell into a panic. The delicate tea cup slipped from the young woman's hands, shattering at her wet feet. Athena backed up a step or two as the maid clutched at her throat, her face turning an unnatural red as she gasped for the air that simply would not enter her lungs.

Merry fell to her knees, knocking over the rest of Athena's tea service. As the small girl slipped further and further to the floor, clutching her throat, she looked up at Athena desperately, managing one weak, strangled word.

"Why?"

Athena smiled, watching as the life dimmed from behind Merry's eyes. "Because I cannot have you gossiping about my failing marriage," she told the girl coldly. "And also because I needed to test this poison out before I have to use it on my husband."

Athena produced a small vile of a cloudy liquid and held it up to the firelight in the room. Then, she looked dismissively down at the near-dead Merry. "I must say, it worked better than I expected."

The last thing Merry saw before she died was the sweeping pale silks of Athena's skirt as she brushed past the scene, leaving the poor woman to pass on alone.

* * *

The Next Morning

Athena was inconsolable. Although Erik had no memory of the woman before he was given his new life, he had never seen her so upset.

"Poison!" She was shrieking to the small group of policemen and doctors that had been summoned once Merry's limp body had been found. "Oh, Erik," Athena wailed dramatically. "Someone has brought _poison_ into our home!"

She buried her head in her husband's chest, sobbing pitifully.

"Sirs, what sort of poison was this?" Erik asked, gently handing off his crying wife to the motherly housekeeper they employed.

A tall, thin officer scratched his beard. "We aren't sure, Monsieur," he said. "Whatever it was, it dissolved quickly enough to not leave a trace behind."

"But would you agree that if we found the source of the drug we would likely be able to find the culprit?" Erik pressed, having read more than enough mystery novels in his time to understand the logistics of unearthing a criminal.

"This is a rare poison," another officer offered. "I would say that the identification of the element would almost certainly lead us to the scoundrel that did this."

With that, Athena suddenly swooned and landed on the floor in a delicate pile of silk.

Immediately, the doctors summoned left the side of the dead maid and rushed to Athena, helping her to her feet.

"I'm sorry," Athena said dramatically. "I suppose I'm just slightly dizzy."

She moved over to Erik purposefully, looping her arm in the crook of his. "You see," she said gently, "Erik and I will be expecting a child in the summer."

Erik's world suddenly narrowed into a spiral of darkness.

A child?

His child?

He looked down at his wife, who was in turn looking up at him, tears brimming on her false eyelashes.

"A baby?" He managed, his throat tight.

"Yes," Athena confirmed, placing a thin hand over her midsection. "A child. Yours and mine."

"Are you certain?" Erik asked.

Everyone in the room looked at Athena. It was common knowledge that Erik was something of a rogue. Could perhaps his wife behave similarly?

Athena's face reddened. "Of course I am," she said. "Are you not pleased?"

All eyes now turned to Erik.

"Who else knows?" He asked somewhat harshly.

Athena's eyes narrowed. "Just the people in this room," she said. Then, as if it were an after thought she added, "And Angelica DeChangy."

Erik's heart dropped.

"You told Madame DeChangy before me?" He asked.

Athena shrugged. "She stopped by for tea earlier. I was simply too excited and had to share with someone. That's not a problem, is it Erik?"

Erik swallowed hard.

Of course it would be a problem.

* * *

Christine sat rigidly on the edge of her bed, tears streaming down her face. 

Athena was pregnant.

With Erik's child.

He was to be a father.

When Raoul had told her the 'happy' news earlier that morning, she had nearly vomited. Excusing herself from the foyer of Madame Giry's house, she had fled to her room, leaving behind a very confused Raoul.

She looked up at the grandfather clock in her room. It was nearly 7pm. She was to meet Erik shortly.

Could she still go in light of this news?

The thought of confronting Erik nearly drove Christine mad.

But the thought of not going to the chapel caused fresh tears to stream down her face.

How could so much change in just one day?


	15. Papa

**_I'm getting held up reading another amazing story. Check under my favorites to read it. _**

**_Enjoy this chapter!_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

Christine had never been a foolish person. She had always adhered to all of the conformities dictated by gentile society.

The draw of herself to Erik, however, was making her do things she never would have ordinarily.

This was the case at the moment, as she sat atop a shining black horse, conveniently 'borrowed' from one of the Opera Populaire's many carriages.

She rode quickly along dark alleyways and cobble stoned streets, knowing the route to the Opera by heart. She would have walked, but the fear of another attack had brought her to the idea of the horse, which was panting under the fast pace at which he was being led.

Christine barely allowed the steed to come to a complete halt before she slid from the saddle, wincing as she landed particularly hard on her left ankle. Still, she fled towards the huge double-barreled entrance to the Opera, limping slightly.

She kept her blue hood tugged down over her face, heading steadfastly towards the chapel. Lingering Opera staff ambled around the hallways…most were too drunk to notice Christine as she made her pilgrimage to the chapel, and the rest were familiar with her reverent visits to the small, holy chambers beneath their feet.

As her slippered feet hurried down the final stone stairs that led to the chapel, she inhaled deeply, anticipating that Erik would have beat her to their meeting place once again.

Instead, emptiness, and the cold, dank air of the basement chapel greeted her.

She sighed, resigning herself to solitude, pushing away the thought that Erik might not meet with her after all.

Christine kneeled before the somber display of candles, some of which had been lit earlier in the day by others. Gingerly, as she had done nearly every day of her childhood, she lifted the thin lighting-stick and brought a small flame to a candle.

After the flame billowed from the wick, she brought her hands into a prayers pose and closed her eyes.

"Father," she said, jumping slightly as her voice bounced off the cavernous walls. "I need you. Now more than ever."

She opened her eyes, half expecting to see her devoted father before her.

Instead, she saw the somber eyes of the Virgin Mary, forever etched into delicate stained glass.

"What am I supposed to do," Christine asked the frozen image. "For the first time in my life, I am honestly in love with someone." She lowered her eyes to her hands that were now resting in her lap. "And it's not my fiancé."

Admitting it out loud frightened her, but she pressed on.

"And now Athena is with child," she said, her voice hitching on a sob. "Erik's child! He is to be a father…and I can't help but selfishly wonder what that means for me!"

She broke down into full blown, wracking sobs.

"Please, Daddy," she said softly, easing her cheek down to the cool stone floor. "I need you. I need you."

Charles could bear it no longer.

Christine sat upright as a rush of air suddenly invaded the chapel, accompanied by a bright flash of light. When her eyes adjusted, Christine's heart nearly stopped.

Standing there, just as he had looked in the healthfulness of his youth, was her father.

"Hello, my darling angel," he said, his voice like a balm over Christine's wounds.

"Papa?" She whispered, tears leaking into her mouth. She stood slowly, her eyes wide as saucers. "Papa, is it really you?"

Charles smiled. "Yes," he confirmed.

Christine moved towards him and opened her arms to embrace him.

But instead of his familiar warmth and fragrant smell of sweet tobacco, Christine only encountered vapid, swirling mist.

Charles looked at his only child with a mixture of sorrow and love. "I apologize for my lack of flesh," he teased.

"Oh Papa," Christine sobbed. "I've missed you!"

"I've missed you too," Charles said. "But I've never once left your side."

Christine smiled weakly. "Are you lonely, Papa? Are you terribly miserable…where you are?"

Charles scoffed. "There's more than enough people around to keep me entertained," he proclaimed. "You should hear Mozart play up close. It's unlike any experience I've ever had."

Christine's eyes widened even further. "You've heard…you've met…Mozart?"

"There will be time enough for you to discover all that," Charles said, eager to turn the conversation to more pressing matters. "What matters now is what has reduced my darling daughter to tears in an empty chapel."

Christine lowered her eyes. "You heard me praying, didn't you?"

Charles nodded.

"I apologize for my uncouth confessions, Papa," Christine said softly, her cheeks flushing a bright pink. She raised tearful eyes to her father. "But I don't know what to do anymore! I've lived my entire life on a certain path and now it seems I have come to a fork in the road. One path is gilded with security and familiarity, while the other is sodden and dark, with no promises for a protected life."

Charles listened, already fully aware of his daughter's predicament.

"Does it make me a terrible person, Father, to forsake my vow to marry Raoul? Would I burn in hell for taking a father from his unborn child?"

Charles sighed. "Do you love Erik, Christine?" He asked pointedly.

Christine's eyes lowered. "Yes," she confessed. "Yes, very much."

It was time, Charles suddenly decided. She was ready.

"Christine, you have always been a smart child," he began delicately. "So I know that you are aware that things happen in this life that cannot be easily explained."

"The mere fact that I am standing here talking to you only solidifies that belief, Father," Christine agreed.

"There is something I must reveal to you about Erik," Charles continued. "Something that you may not want to believe…something that you may not be able to believe."

"You know Erik?" Christine asked.

"Yes," Charles affirmed.

"Tell me, Papa," Christine implored. "Tell me everything."

Charles took a deep breath.

"Give me your hand, Christine."

"Father, I can't…I mean you aren't…"

Christine was cut off by the sudden shock of electricity that flooded up her arm as her fingertips came into contact with the fog that harbored the soul of her father.

Instantly, and in less than a second, memories and realisms flooded into Christine's consciousness. She saw Erik's childhood, most of which was spent behind the cold iron bars of the gypsy's traveling cage.

She saw herself as a child, singing in the mirror to an unforeseen 'angel'.

She saw her first descent to the 'Opera Ghosts' lair, her hand planted firmly in a masked man's as he led her to what she recognized as the much altered, more comfortable underground of the Opera.

She watched as she kissed Erik while standing in the lake, his face horribly disfigured.

And finally, she experienced the most painful sorrow she ever had as in her mind's eye she witnessed herself being rowed away by a victorious Raoul, leaving Erik howling in misery on the shores of the underground lake.

Christine clutched at her chest, pulling her hand from her father's, effectively ending the memories, resulting in her full awareness of what was actual reality.

"Oh my God," Christine whispered.

"Sometimes, _someone_ sees fit to offer redemption, Christine," Charles pressed on, knowing the emotional distress he had placed upon his daughter. "Your memories now are of a life without the Phantom of the Opera."

Christine clutched at her heart unconsciously. "Papa," she rasped, not knowing what else to say.

"It is a lot to take in, Christine," Charles admitted. "And now that you know the truth, I believe you have a decision to make.

At that moment, footsteps could be heard descending the stairs to the chapel.

Christine raised her eyes to see Erik standing at the entrance, his face full of an unidentified emotion.

"So," Erik said softly. "Now you know."


	16. Here, Now

**_My usual author notes will be at the BOTTOM of this chapter._**

**_eep!_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

****

Erik looked completely different to her now.

Now, she understood the darkness that tainted his golden irises. She understood the grim line of his full lips. She appreciated the smooth skin that was in place of gnarled, twisted flesh…not because it was more pleasing to look at, but because Erik's stigma had finally been removed.

Charles watched as his daughter moved closer to Erik. He watched as Erik's breath caught in his throat.

"How is it possible," Erik whispered to Christine as she drew near, "that you have not run from this room screaming?"

Christine smiled sadly. "I ran from you once," she said. "I will never do it again."

Erik's eyes slid closed. The closure he had needed since Christine left him alone in the lair and allowed Raoul to row her away had finally come.

Christine's demeanor had instantly changed. She seemed worldlier, more full of experience. She turned to face her father.

"I want things to go back," she said bluntly. "I want Erik and I to return to the other life."

Charles's brow knitted together. "It's not that easy, darling," he said gently. "All _that_ life is now…is memories."

It was Christine's turn to be frustrated. "Why would Erik be given a second chance if it meant _more_ struggles for him? It's not fair!"

"Dear child," Charles soothed. "Anything worth having comes requires a fight," he said, wishing he were able to wrap his arms around her.

"Erik's whole life has been a fight, Father," Christine said, sounding angry.

Erik's chest swelled at Christine's defense of him. He was overwhelmed by what was happening.

She knew. She knew his past. She remembered how things were between them. She remember standing on the stage, raising her voice with his during Don Juan Triumphant. She knew that he had killed for her…that he had manipulated her…lied to her…

That he was actually a rotting corpse, rather than the handsome nobleman he appeared to be now.

Almost involuntarily, he reached out and grasped Christine's small hand, folding it within the largeness of his palm. "Don't be angry," he said to her. "This life…this second chance…without it, I would not have been able to see you again." He brought her fingertips to his lips. "To touch you…to have you look at me with trust and love, rather than fear and repulsion."

Tears sprang to Christine's eyes. "I was never repulsed by you, Erik," she said, sniffling softly. "I was frightened of myself when I was near you," she confessed. "I was frightened of choosing a path of uncertainty and peril…I was young…stupid…you were so powerful…so intense…and I was just a little slip of nothing powerless to love you the way you deserved."

Erik grasped her other hand, holding it tight to his chest.

"But now I realize that nothing matters to me but you," she sobbed. "You, who was there to comfort me when Papa died," she looked over at the ghostly image of her father, who was watching the scene with silent eyes. "You, who trained me to sing like an angel…who thrust me into the limelight, when I would have fallen into the shadows. You, who protected me…loved me…even after I chose Raoul."

Erik's hands tightened on hers at the mention of Raoul.

Christine leaned into him, resting her cheek on his broad chest, listening to the thudding of his heart. "I made the wrong choice in that life, Erik," she rasped. "I choseRaoul over love. And for that, I am eternally sorry."

Erik took her by the shoulders, looking down at her tear-streaked face. "But we can fix it, Christine," he said, his eyes a bit wild, his black hair falling into his eyes. "We have each other! We have each other now, here!"

Christine shook her head. "Don't you see? It's not that simple, Erik," she said, echoing her father. "There are others involved now. And if we don't resolve our problems now, they will haunt us forever."

* * *

Athena stalked around her bedroom, anxiously wringing her hands.

Erik had gone out just after supper and now, it was nearly two in the morning.

Fear and irritation swept through her. What if he had already fled with his precious Christine?

She should have killed him when she had the chance.

Her hand went subconsciously to the small syringe of poison filled in the folds of her skirts. It had been difficult to convince the doctor to give her the needle, but a few hundred pounds had silenced his protests. She pulled it out and gave it a test squirt, squinting her eyes at the liquid inside.

And as the door closed downstairs, a small smile spread across her lips.

Erik was home.

Athena hurried to the top of the stairs, prepared to appear the doting, concerned wife.

Erik'sstern, sober face and his hesitation to come any further into the house, however, caused Athena to stop in her tracks, her skirts swishing around her ankles with the abrupt halt of movement.

"Erik!" She squeaked, her eyes wide. "Where have you been?"

"Athena, I must discuss something with you," Erik said smoothly, indicating that she should come down the stairs.

Swallowing the bubbling bile of rage, Athena did her best to look composed as she descended the steps.

When she reached the bottom, she placed her hand in her pocket, once again feeling for the cool needle of poison.

"Athena," Erik said, his voice cold. "We both know that this marriage is nothing more than an expensive charade."

"You don't mince words, do you?" Athena chuckled uncomfortably.

"Not when getting to the point is my intention," he told her. "I'm leaving, Athena," he said. "If left up to my own devices, I would have left without telling you. And while I don't feel as if I owe you an explanation…the right thing to do is to take care of my responsibilities."

"Your responsibilities," Athena scoffed. "You've _never_ been responsible a day in your life, Erik. Why start now?"

"Because you are carrying my child, and I at least owe that child the best opportunities in life," he replied. "I don't want anything from you. Take all my money…the house…everything. I don't want it. Bring the child up comfortably. See that he has he best education. The finest clothes. Anything his heart desires. Marry again quickly, and this time, find a better man than me."

Athena suddenly tossed her head back and laughed. "_Your_ money?" Her voice shrilled. "You haven't a dime that hasn't already been spent," she spat. "Everything is mine."

Erik blinked. This was a development he had not been prepared for.

"Then I suppose, everything works out in the end," he said slowly after a few moments of silence, "and we have nothing left to say to each other."

He turned to leave.

"That's it?" Athena yelled after him. "You're just going to walk out and leave your _wife_ and your _child _alone?"

Erik turned. "You have a large family and many friends, Athena," he said. "And don't pretend that you haven't taken a lover or two behind my back as well. I am certain you will be well cared for."

"What will I tell people?" She asked, turning him by the shoulder. "I will be disgraced…shunned…you don't know what you're doing!"

Erik sighed. "Perhaps my decision has damned me, Athena," he said softly. "But I would rather burn in hell for eternity than remain with you in this house for one more moment."

Athena's face drained of all color. He turned his back to leave, but a piercing shriek caused him to turn back around.

He barely felt the needle as it entered his chest.

"You Bastard!" Athena screamed as Erik fell to his knees in disbelief. "You unthinkable _bastard!_"

Erik pulled the syringe from his chest, horrified that whatever had been inside was now burning a path through his veins.

"Burn in hell _now_, Erik!" She yelled. "And I'll tell you something else, _darling_," she hissed, leaning down to face the man who was quickly loosing consciousness. "There is no baby," she said evilly. "Did you think I would stoop so low as to actually _fuck_ you, Erik? Oh no…there's enough street trash to take care of that little deed for me…so you see…you didn't have to come back…you could have left with a clear conscience. But I had to have you come back, Erik. I had to send you to your precious _hell!_"

Erik felt his awareness slipping.

The last thing he saw was Athena quickly picking up the syringe and tucking it within the folds of her billowing skirts.

* * *

**_Okay. Everyone breathe. This isn't the end. Don't worry. _**

**_Please don't get so mad that you don't read the rest. ;)_**

**_Gives everyone a milkshake and a punching bag. ;)_**

****

**_-Nico_**


	17. Deal Breaker

**_This is a short, transitional chapter that was originally part of a much longer chapter. _**

**_I have to do some editing on the rest, so I thought I'd give you a little taste...cause that's better thana no-chapter day!_**

**_Enjoy!_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

****

There was darkness.

Darkness and the vague sense that someone was watching him.

Erik forced his eyes open, painfully aware that every muscle in his body was seized in a sort of involuntary convulsion.

When his vision focused, he was met with a familiar sight.

The high, stone-pitched ceilings of his lair.

He sat up too quickly for his muscles to compensate, resulting in a primal scream.

He was in his black silk-lined bed in the depths of the Opera Populaire.

A quick survey of his surroundings confirmed that everything was just as it had been before the final performance of Don Juan Triumphant.

Erik forced himself to rise, wincing as a particular spot on his chest burned and ached with his movements.

Slowly, he made his way to the door of his bedroom, leaning against the oak frame and trying to catch his breath.

As he peered out onto the lake, he shuddered a sigh.

It had all been a dream.

Slowly, his right hand came up to his face, his eyes sliding closed in morbid frustration as his fingertips encountered familiar twisted skin and jutting bones.

The overwhelming feeling that he was about to pass out caused him to slide to the floor, tears of rage forming in the corners of his eyes.

It had been so real…everything.

But it was just his warped mind playing an unfair trick on him.

A trick that had convinced him that his angel loved him.

He allowed the sobs to come…harsh, wracking sounds that shook the very foundation he sat upon.

"Really, Erik. I thought it would take more than this to defeat you."

Erik raised his eyes, stunned to see Charles Daae standing before him in all his ethereal glory.

He forced himself to stand, too preoccupied by the glimmer of hope the presence of Charles had ignited within his soul to focus on the pain in his body.

"Charles," Erik rasped. "What happened?"

"You died," Charles said matter-of-factly. "And cleverly discovered how to return to this life."

Erik's head was swimming. "Please, Charles," he said beseechingly. "I can not handle any more mysticism…any more games. What is going on?"

Charles nodded, his eyes still carrying the glint of the humorous nature that personified the man in life, as well as death.

"Your death was a deal-breaker, Erik," the older apparition explained. "Everything has gone back to the way it was before." Charles smiled. "Well, almost everything."

Somewhere above their heads, the opening chords of Don Juan Triumphant began to resound through the Opera Populaire.

"This isn't where I left off, Charles," Erik said pointedly. "I believe it was actually a few hours later."

Charles winked.

"Then it seems you still have the power to change the future," Charles said. "Everything you experienced with Athena…without your scars…with Christine's love…you must utilize those experiences now…tonight…here."

"Christine," Erik said, the word playing on his lips. "She will remember nothing, will she?"

Charles' eyes darkened a bit. "This is where it becomes complicated," he admitted. "Unfortunately, Christine had been told about your second chance, courtesy of her bumbling father. It is now up to you to make her remember."

Erik scoffed as the overture above him rose and fell in familiar waves. "She will leave with Raoul," he said miserably. "I had confessed my love to her…asked her to stay with me…yet she still chose him."

"You also tried to hang Raoul with the Punjab lasso…after killing Piangi with the same rope… or have you forgotten?"

Erik stared at him in stony silence.

That particular bit of the story had been momentarily, blissfully forgotten.

Charles sighed. "Second chances come in all forms, Erik. I'm still offering you exactly what I did in the beginning of all this. It's just that you have a time limit now."

The orchestra swelled and roared, signaling that the show was about to begin.

"You have three minutes before your entrance, Erik," Charles said. "Perhaps it would be best if you changed into your costume?"


	18. Don Juan Take Two

**_Okay, here's the rest of the last chapter! _**

**_Hope you guys are liking it!_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

****

Erik cursed behind the curtains, quickly doing the last of the buttons on his vest. Behind him, a panicked, sweaty Piangi was uttering terrible Italian obscenities, although they were muffled by the gag Erik had placed and tied securely around his mouth.

The last of his vest buttons conquered, Erik knelt down to remove Don Juan's elaborate cape from around Piangi's shoulders. "Be thankful, my rotund friend, that you have met me on this side of consequence." He quickly wrapped the cape around his own shoulders. "Otherwise, I fear you would have come out of this much worse for the wear."

Piangi's eyes went wide with the insinuation, and the close proximity to the dreaded Phantom of the Opera's mask.

Then, he passed out.

Erik shook his head. Had he known it would be so easy to frighten the large man, he would never have killed him the first time around.

His mind frantically searched for the lesson…the patience he had learned with Athena…

It had already come into play.

Shaking off the feeling that the ghost of Charles Daae had edified him, Erik peered from behind the curtains at a new presence on the stage.

His Christine.

She walked out slowly, barefooted, her porcelain face and gleaming hair shining in the false sunlight provided by a half-drunk stagehand.

Erik felt his lip twitch into a small smile as he watched her…a smile that quickly dissipated as he caught sight of Raoul, staring at his fiancé with a loving, reassuring smile.

He watched as Christine's eyes met with Raoul's. He noted the small nod of encouragement Raoul gave her.

Then, Erik noticed the armed men placed not only in Raoul's box, but strategically throughout the theater.

The first time he had realized Raoul had planned an ambush, blinding rage had taken control of him. Reckless abandon had thrust him out onto the stage, shoving the role of Don Juan down his throat, further than it already was.

Now, he calmly thought about the situation.

As long as he acted rationally, he was in control of the situation.

He simply hoped he could pass such rationalism onto Christine…

Who was singing the last line before his cue.

Briefly, Erik allowed himself to revel in the pure, crystalline quality of her voice. If there was one thing he missed about the Christine in this life, it was her utter indulgence in song.

Something about her long engagement to Raoul in Erik's "second chance" had hardened her…had stolen the brightness from her instrument.

Now, it was back, ringing in the attentive ears of everyone within reach.

Including Erik.

As his gloved hand swept across the curtains, revealing himself to the audience for the first time, he heard several whispers from the crowd.

Funny how he had missed the cast's astute assumptions that Piangi had been 'replaced' the first time this had all happened.

Christine's back was to him. When he had seen the blocking for this particular scene for the first time, he had been delighted with direction. This allowed him to sing several bars of music before she would turn to see him.

But now, he longed to see her eyes…to know what she knew…so see the extent of how much she remembered.

He was still in great pain from his…well, death…but at the sight of Christine pain was forgotten and his voice floated effortlessly from his chest, delighting the audience with its pure animal magnetism.

Erik noted how Christine's shoulders tensed just after the first note escaped his lips.

Slowly, wondrously, she turned around, her eyes wide with surprise.

He could not be certain yet whether or not she was in awe of his replacement of Piangi, or her excitement to see him again.

Erik stalked to the edge of the stage, aware of just how imposing a figure he was in his sleek black costume.

He flared the cape dramatically to one side, watching as Christine rose slowly to her feet.

Moving closer to her, he extended his hand to hers, bringing it dramatically to his lips, only to have it coyly pulled away by Christine.

Erik's eyes flitted to Raoul, who was watching the scene on the edge of his seat, no doubt highly irritated that the man in the mask had dare touch his beautiful flower.

As Christine began to sing again, he watched as she gave herself to the moment, shrugging her shoulders in abandon as she admitted that she too was ready to pass the point of no return.

Slowly, in harmony, they crossed the stage towards the elaborate stairs leading to the culmination of a bridge, suspended high over the stage where false flames flickered against scantily clad ballerinas in black silks.

He removed his cape in one fail swoops as they faced off at either end of the precipice, allowing it to fall perfectly over the railing. He walked and sang, watching as she did the same until they met in the middle in a collision of grasping hands.

Erik turned her into himself, embracing her from behind, allowing his fingertips to run down the sides of her bare arms, willing his presence back into her…silently praying that it would be enough to remind her of love.

When she spun away from him, he clutched her hands in his. And while he searched for a new way to tell her how he loved her…to tempt her with what they could be together…he found the same, haunting words he had married to music and placedon paper what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Anywhere you go let me go too," he pleaded, his voice cracking over the notes, his eyes frantically searching hers for any indication she remembered. "Love me," he whispered. "That's all I ask of…"

And he paused, waiting for the moment that would surely come…the moment when Christine would betray him by pulling off the mask that hid his horrors from the paying audience…the moment that would send the entire theater into a murderous mob…

Yet the moment never came. Erik took a deep breath, looking down into Christine's eyes, which were brimming with tears. Softly, almost inaudible to anyone besides Christine, Erik allowed himself to sing the word that had gone silent for so long.

"…you."

Christine left her small hands on his shoulders, listening to the audience shift uncomfortably beneath the intensity of the moment. She could practically feel Raoul's eyes burning into the back of her head, wondering what she was doing with her hands tightly entwined within the fabric of Erik's lapels.

"Erik," she whispered, her eyes blinking nervously.

"Do you remember?" Erik asked quietly, desperately...past the point of caring about the crowd watching. "Do you remember Christine?"

Tears spilled down her cheeks. She nodded, slowly at first and then with such vigor it caused the red rose to fall from her hair. "I remember," she whispered, looking up at him. "I remember everything."

Erik's heart surged. He fought the urge to embrace her, to kiss her…

"But Erik," Christine was saying, pulling him back down to reality. "What do we do now?"


	19. Escape

**_There will probably be another chapter up later today!_**

**_I love your reviews...you are ALL so insightful! _**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

The orchestra held their final note for as long as possible before the poetic violins and sweeping flutes ebbed into silence. Nervously, the musicians looked at each other and up to their Maestro for direction. 

The two actors on stage had not moved for nearly an entire minute.

Christine nervously looked over her shoulder at a now standing Raoul, who was gesturing urgently to the officer to his right.

"Erik," Christine whispered, her mouth suddenly dry. "You have to escape. Quickly."

Erik looked down at the small woman in his arms whose eyes were damp with the desperate need to save him.

"I'm not going anywhere without you, Christine," he said somberly. He was in a state of bliss, having once again gained the love of his angel. At the moment, he didn't care about the armed men waiting to end his life. He didn't care about the hundreds of eyes watching his every move.

He didn't care about anything but Christine.

"You have to," Christine said with urgency, unconsciously pulling herself closer to him. "They'll kill you!"

Erik looked away from Christine's eyes for the first time. Already, a small armory had formed at the two back exits of the theater. It was certain that the same amount of armed men blocked every other exit as well.

Well, almost every other exit.

"Please Erik," Christine whispered. "Just get out of here. Use the trap door and head underground. Then send word for me once you're safe."

His hands tightened around her upper arms. "If I leave you now, I fear I'll never see you again," Erik whispered. The moment of gentle apprehension in his voice melted Christine's face into a smile. She brought her hand up to the back of his head, hearing the murmurs in the crowd as she did so.

"You will see me again," she promised reverently.

Then, to seal her pledge, she stood on tiptoes, claiming Erik's lips within her own to the shock and awe of everyone watching.

Even Erik himself was surprised, especially when she didn't pull right away. She took her time, sliding her lips underneath his own, drinking in his soul with unspoken oaths.

Raoul sank to his seat as he watched his fiancé brazenly kiss the man in the black mask. There was no doubt in his frazzled mind that the brilliant tenor was none other than the elusive Phantom of the Opera…the very man who had manipulated young Christine's mind into thinking that she was in love with him.

Yet now, as Raoul watched Christine tenderly kiss the man who seemed more shocked than Raoul himself, his head began to swirl. He was certain that Christine had initiated the kiss. She had had ample time to scream…to push the man away…to do _anything_ but remain interlocked within his arms, kissing his lips with thorough fervor.

Was it possible that she loved this monster?

"Monsieur?" The officer at his side begged his attention. "Monsieur, I have a clear shot…"

"No," Raoul whispered. "You might hit Christine."

The officer shifted uncomfortably, wondering why the young patron was suddenly hesitant when just hours earlier he had given strict instructions to shoot the masked man on sight.

Christine finally broke the kiss, staring up into the dumbfounded eyes of Erik. "I love you," she whispered. "And if you love me, you'll go. Now."

Erik's face twisted against the decision to leave Christine. He knew that it was just a matter of activating a lever just to his right and the trap door below him would open. He had strategically fashioned a pulley system to drop the massive chandelier at the same time, but now, he knew that he would not cause the destruction he had earlier.

Slowly, unseen to the audience, Erik's gloved hand went to the rope at his side. "I will go, but I will not leave the Opera without you," he told Christine sternly. The tone in his voice indicated that his mind was made up on this topic.

Christine nodded. "I will find you," she swore. "Now please, go!"

Erik touched her face once more before quickly separating the thick rope from its confines. Simultaneously, he activated the lever just above the bridge, activating the trap door some thirty feet below him. Before anyone could react, Erik swooped down from the bridge, quickly disappearing beneath the stage in a great show of smoke and flame.

Just before the trap closed over his head, Erik could hear the audience shrieking and Raoul's call to action.

Christine scrambled down from the bridge, rushing towards Raoul in the pandemonium that erupted once Erik made his escape.

Raoul took the stairs to the stage two at a time, colliding with Christine as she reached him. He took her by the arms, looking down into her face.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his face frantic.

Christine nodded, wincing under his tight grip. "I'm fine, Raoul! Let me go!"

Around them, cast members scurried away noisily, frightened by the presence of the Phantom of the Opera…who now appeared to be more man than ghost. The audience was making their hasty, bumbling exit, frightened by the armed guards around them and desperate to put as much distance between themselves and the dreaded opera ghost.

A small fire had erupted on stage as a result of thefire effects Erik had rigged to mask his escape. Smoke swirled around the panicked crowd, sending Christine into a fit of coughs.

"Christine, go to your chambers!" Raoul yelled over the shouting crowd.

"No!" Christine said, pulling herself violentlyfrom his grip. "What are you going to do to him?"

Raoul looked down at her, his fast aghast. "We will find him," he said firmly. "And when we do, we will kill him."

Christine placed a hand to her mouth and backed up a few feet.

"Christine!" Raoul called, reaching a hand through the smoke towards her.

But it was too late.

Christine had turned on her heel and ran.


	20. Escape Part Two

**_I want you all to know that even though I sliced my hand open on a knife this morning, requiring eleven stitches, I still managed to post this chapter. _**

**_And also, I'm delerious on pain medication. _**

**_Enjoy! _**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

Erik landed with a soft thud on top of the pile of old mattresses and linen he suddenly remembered placing three floors below the trap door.

Of course, he had done this because originally, he had expected to kidnap Christine and drag her back down to his lair…luring Raoul to follow and be hung. In his once warped mind, he had assumed Christine would either pledge her eternal love to him in order to save Raoul, or he would kill the boy and force Christine to remain with him anyhow.

Neither scenario played out the first time, and Erik doubted either would this time.

Above his head, Erik could make out the sounds of a frantic herd of people, running and screaming for their lives.

In spite of himself, Erik smirked at the audience's consistency. Although this time, the Opera would not burn to the ground.

He began moving silently through the passageways. His mind raced. Where would he find Christine? Where could he go where she would know to look?

And most importantly…where no one would find him?

He paused in his journey, forcing his nerves to settle and struggling to maintain the composure that would allow him a coherent thought.

And then it came to him.

The chapel.

Erik had already changed direction as his mind began to justify his decision. The chapel was on the opposite side of the building, far from the trap door that would certainly be the starting point for any following mob.

He stopped again.

But Raoul had arrived in his lair before the mob the first time around.

Erik's mind twisted in rapid detective work. How had Raoul beaten the angry theater mob to his lair? Every route from the theater to Erik's home was equidistant…

Every route but one.

Erik's eyes closed softly.

Madame Giry.

The most direct route to the lair was one only two people knew about…Erik, and his benefactor, Madame Giry.

And when she told Raoul, three people knew.

Erik pushed aside feeling of betrayal, knowing that above his head the same scenario had played out…a desperate Raoul pleading with Madame Giry to reveal the Phantom's Den.

Still, the chapel was a good choice. It was isolated…and certainly holy enough to be the last place the dreaded phantom would retreat to. Even if the small army looking for him decided to come to the chapel, he would hear them long before they arrived in the small room.

The chapel was also a sacred place for Erik and Christine for other reasons, having nothing to do with specific religious beliefs of either party.

It was where Erik had soothed a young Christine with words of love just after her father passed.

It was where she would go when she was frightened, calling to her angel for his protective presence.

It was where Charles revealed himself to his daughter.

And it was where Christine first remembered the life both she and Erik found themselves in now.

He could only pray she would be there.

* * *

Christine paced the stone floor of the chapel, the burned bottom of her skirts sweeping up dust in the glinting candlelight.

She fought the urge to run into the passageways and head for Erik's lair.

But he wouldn't go there again, would he? He knew that Raoul would be going straight there…Erik would remember that…

Wouldn't he?

Christine bit at her thumbnail. The chapel was the first place she thought to run…not necessarily to meet Erik, but in the hopes of seeing her father again. Surely the man she had always depended on as a small girl would appear again, directing his beloved daughter and the man she loved towards safety.

But she had been in the confined rooms for nearly thirty minutes…with no sign of her father…or Erik.

She walked the passages in her mind. She remembered where she and Erik had fell when they plummeted through the trap door the first time…quickly doing the math, if Erik came directly to the chapel, it would only have taken him ten minutes.

Then why wasn't he here?

Christine walked towards the back exit of the chapel, which was never used by ordinary stagehands and theater employees. It led to the unfinished, treacherous passageways beneath the Opera.

The same passageways that would lead to Erik's lair.

Christine pushed the heavy oak door that led to the passageway, looking back over her shoulder into the chapel at the same time, torn between staying where she was or venturing into the darkness, trying to find Erik.

A hand went over her mouth.

Christine instinctively struggled, but stopped when she heard Erik's voice soothing her.

"Christine!" He whispered. "It's me! I did not want to risk you screaming…the sound would travel through the passageways!"

He pulled his hand away once her eyes softened in happy recognition. "Erik," she said, wrapping herself around him, burying her now sobbing face in the crook of his neck as she felt his strong arms encircle her waist.

"It's alright," Erik said, gently stroking her hair. "It's alright, we're together…we're together."

Christine pulled her head up, her tear streaked but smiling face suddenly attacking his with urgent, fierce kisses that Erik gladly returned.

After a moment, Erik gently pulled away, brushing some hair from Christine's eyes. "We have to get out of here," he said. "Now."

Christine nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes.

_I must be brave_, she told herself.

Erik put his hands on her shoulders. "Keep hold of my hand," he told her firmly. She nodded again.

"But Erik," she whispered. "Where are we going?"

Erik kissed her forehead tenderly. "I have a plan," he said.


	21. The Money

**_Thank you for your well wishes! I wish it was a cooler story, but I sliced my hand on the knife when I was unloading the dishwasher. My fiance, bless his heart, had decided to be helpful and loaded up the washer...forgetting to put the knives in BLADE DOWN. When I reached into the basket, I wrapped my hand around the blade of a particularly sharp knife...the one on tv that cuts cans...and cut through my palm. I have full movement of all of myfingers (not my thumb)and luckily these chapters were already written so posting hasn't been too painful. _****_I apologize for typos. _**

**_In any event, here's the next twist in our story!_**

**_Thanks again!_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

****

Christine might as well have been blind as she stumbled through the dark passageways of the Opera Populaire, her hand locked in a death grip around Erik's. Vaguely, she had the sensation of moving upwards, but the constant stumble of her feet against rubble and piping disoriented her.

She dared not speak, too afraid of being heard by anyone who may be looking for them. Several times, Erik squeezed her small hand in reassurance.

Eventually, a dim light could be seen at the end of one particularly narrow passage. Erik led her until the stopped before a two-way mirror, revealing Christine's dressing room.

"What are we doing here?" Christine whispered anxiously. "Surely they'll come look here!"

Erik nodded. "I would think so," he agreed. "But there is something inside of your room we need."

Christine looked up at him, confused.

"Do you see the far wall there?" He asked, pointing at the room.

"The wall with the Monet hanging? Yes, I see it."

"Behind that painting is a safe," Erik whispered. "Inside of that safe is enough money to keep us living comfortably for many years to come."

Christine gasped. "Money?" She squeaked. "But where did it come from?"

"I am paid a salary as the resident Opera Ghost," he explained quickly. "Anything I've ever needed has either been stolen…or borrowed…so I have never spent a dime. There's more than a decade's worth of monthly wages in a trunk inside the safe. I must get it and then we'll go back into the passageways."

"But how will we get out of the Opera?" Christine asked, her mind swimming.

"It will be difficult," Erik admitted. "We will have to wait in a secluded place until they take the search to the streets."

Christine nodded.

"Christine," Erik continued, taking off his vest and rolling up his sleeves. "You must come help me move the trunk. It's rather heavy. Do you think you can do this?"

"Yes," Christine said enthusiastically. "I can do anything you need."

Erik's lips twitched in an uncharacteristic moment of uncharacteristic immaturity. "Anything?" He whispered.

Despite the desperate situation, Christine swatted Erik's arm playfully. "Within reason," she amended.

"We'll have to be fast," Erik said, getting back to business.

Christine nodded. "I'm ready."

Erik quickly pulled the lever that gained them access to Christine's quarters.

"Gather anything you absolutely cannot live without while I work the lock," Erik whispered, already taking down the Monet.

Christine hurried to her vanity table, quickly gathering up her more expensive jewelry, a handful of carefully folded bills she had been saving, her birth certificate, and lastly, a photograph of her father. These items were shoved quickly into a small bag along with a fresh shirt and skirt, just in case.

Erik watched as she quickly packed. "You should change out of your costume," he said suddenly. "You don't even have any shoes on."

Christine looked down at herself, still dressed as a seductive gypsy. Nodding, she quickly pulled off the layers of silk and lace, despite the fact that Erik was watching with a thoroughlydistracted expression.

"Pay attention to what you're doing," Christine admonished gently.

Once she was clothed again, she pulled her hair into a tight bun, watching as Erik finally unlocked the safe.

True to his word, a medium-sized trunk could be seen inside. And also true was the fact that it was indeed very heavy.

Erik managed to pull the trunk from the safe himself…however he misjudged the weight and it landed with a loud thud on the floor.

Christine winced at the sound.

For a moment, neither moved.

Until a knock was heard at the door.

"Christine? Christine are you in there?" A voice called from the other side of Christine's room.

"Oh God!" Christine whispered. "It's M. Firmin…quickly Erik!"

Erik nodded, ignoring the pesky manager's calls for help.

"Take the other side," Erik commanded, pointing at the trunk. "I'll do my best to support most of the weight."

Christine took grasp of the trunk and was surprised by how easy it was to lift when two people attacked the task.

Wordlessly, the two walked back through the passageway, quickly closing the mirror entryway behind them.

* * *

No sooner had the mirror closed than the front door to Christine's suite opened, revealing Monsieur Andre and Firmin, along with several members of the theater staff and several armed guards.

The room was completely empty.

"She was here," M. Firmin insisted. "I heard a loud noise and then whispering…I'm sure I heard Christine…and a man!"

"They are not here now," an officer pointed out, starting to tire of searching for someone who may in fact be a ghost.

"But they were!" Firmin insisted. "I _heard_ them!"

The small group walked around the room, inspecting each corner and crevice.

"Gentlemen?"

A woman's voice caused everyone to turn. There, standing in the entryway to Christine's rooms was a small woman dressed in a red hooded cape which hid most of her face from the curious group.

"If you'll permit me, I believe I might be some of some assistance."

The woman spoke with a slight accent, her red lips moving fluidly as the words were formed.

M. Firmin approached the woman. "And just who are you, my dear?"

The woman slowly took off her hood, revealing dark locks and mysterious eyes.

"My name is Athena Mansart," she said, her lips curving into a smile. "And I think I may know where you can find your precious Opera Ghost."


	22. An Offer

**_Okay..we're back tracking here. This chapter takes place right after Athena kills Erik. _**

**_Here's the big pay off to the question...WHAT THE HELL IS ATHENA DOING IN THIS WORLD?_**

**_Enjoy!_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

****

Athena brushed past Erik, trying to quickly get out of the room before he died. His face had twisted into such an ugly mask of shock and betrayal; she could not bear to be near him for one more moment.

The syringe still tight in her hand, Athena moved towards a relatively empty study in her mansion, placing her hands over her ears as she heard Erik in his death throes.

Her blood was racing with rage she had never experienced before. He was going to leave her. He was actually going to leave _her_ for that _girl_…

She had taken a twisted pleasure in revealing that she wasn't pregnant after all. The confession had bubbled out of her right after she had plunged the needle into his chest. She had wanted to hurt him…to make his last moments on earth as terrible as possible.

And yet, even now as the room where she left Erik grew quiet, she still had a seething desire to hurt him…to destroy him.

Athena walked back into Erik's death chamber, barely taking note of her now dead husband before throwing the syringe into the fire, jumping slightly as it exploded and melted into oblivion.

The destruction sated her momentarily, so she picked up a nearby manuscript Erik had been working on and threw that in too, reveling in the black smoked that destroyed his musical talent.

She felt alive with power. In a frenzied rage, she began a rampage, throwing as many things as she could find into the fire…manuscripts, vials of ink, sofa cushions…anything she could lift…laughing hysterically as the flames began to spill into the room, licking at her skirts.

Manically, she ignored the flame and tossed one final item at the blaze…Erik's brandy jug.

Athena screeched as the flames engulfed her, and then everything was dark.

* * *

When Athena awoke, there was nothing around her. No floor beneath her feet, no ceiling over her head. Just the blackness, and the terrible coldness that accompanied it.

"Hello?" She called, wincing as her voice bounced off nothingness, piercing her ears. "Is anyone there?"

"Not just anyone…"

The voice was as dark as her surroundings, husky and tarnished. In the echo, Athena could hear thousands of people screaming in horrendous pain.

"Who are you?" Athena asked, now frightened. "Where am I?"

"You are where all truly evil people eventually wind up," the voice informed her. Athena watched in horror as a figure began to matriculate in the darkness, taking on the form of a young man, no older than she.

He was pleasant enough to look at, with short black hair and smooth skin.

But his eyes…terrible black eyes that never blinked.

"I'm not evil," Athena whispered as the man approached.

The stranger tsked, a smile on his lips. "Now we both know that's not true," he said, almost sympathetically.

"Who are you?" Athena repeated, now shaking from the cold.

The man smiled again. "I have so many names, Athena," he sighed. "We would be here all day if I were to list them." He moved towards her, inspecting her frightened face. Softly, he whispered, "I can give you a hint though."

Athena nodded wordlessly.

With a flick of the man's wrist, brilliant light surrounded Athena, causing her to momentarily close her eyes. When she opened them, she faced a scene of torment…

Writhing half-dead bodies littered the floor, some grasping at her ankles…some screaming for a death that would never come. Flames exploded from all angles, continually burning and reburning each of the tortured souls…

Athena's mouth opened in a soundless scream as her eyes darted from disembodied skulls to bubbling corpses to the screams of a bleeding,disemboweled woman.

Just as quickly as the scene was displayed it was gone, leaving both Athena and the man in darkness once again.

"Oh my God," Athena sputtered.

"Please," the man held up a hand. "I think you know that I'm not God. Just simply…God-_like_."

"Hell," Athena whispered. "I'm in…hell."

The man nodded. "Very good Athena! I'm impressed!" He exclaimed sarcastically.

"So I'm…I'm…" Athena grappled with the idea.

"Dead," the man supplied. "Burned to a crisp."

"And you're…you're…" she began to cry.

"At your service." The Devil bowed slightly, still smiling. "I've been waiting for you, Athena," he said, running a searing hot finger down her cheek, causing her to cry out in pain. "It's true that evil lurks in the heart of most men…but a woman? It's a rare find."

"What do you want with me?" Athena asked, near hysterics.

"Let's think here," The Devil said, placing a mocking finger to his chin. "What could the Devil _possibly_ want from a dead human?"

Athena's eyes widened with realization. "My soul…"

The Devil clapped his hands together. "Really, Athena! You're a quick one! Can't put anything by you!"

"You can't have my soul," Athena told him.

"You haven't heard my offer yet," The Devil countered. "I'm a businessman first and foremost, Athena…and I believe I can provide you with something you truly desire."

Athena cocked an eyebrow, now listening. The Devil smiled.

"That mean old Erik," he said, pouting his lip a bit. "He was going to leave you…all alone…with nothing," The Devil smirked. "How dare he?"

Athena's eyes darkened with rage.

"But what if I told you that the life you were living never really happened? What if I told you that it was an alternate reality, given as a _gift_ to Erik by an incredibly misguided angel?"

"I'd say you were lying," Athena replied.

"But I'm not," The Devil told her. "Take my hand."

Athena didn't move.

"Just take it," The Devil rolled his eyes. "The burners are off. I promise."

Athena reached her hand out, gasping as The Devil grasped her fingers.

And all at once, Athena became aware of everything. Of Charles. Of Erik's second chance.

Of everything.

"How?" Athena whispered as The Devil pulled away. "How is it possible? I had a childhood…I have memories _before_ Erik!"

The Devil sighed. "If I had to explain all the details, you would never be able to exact your revenge. For now, you'll just have to accept that this is true." He looked around the room, then up towards the ceiling. Then, very quietly he told her, "_He_ can do anything he wants. _He's_ _God._ If he wants you to have memories, then you will. If _He _wants to create a working alternate universe…_He can._"

"What are you offering me?" Athena asked, her voice deadpan.

The Devil rubbed his hands together. He had her.

"I'm offering _you_ a second chance," he told her. "Right now, as we speak, Erik is planning an escape with his precious Christine…"

"I know," Athena interrupted. "I saw when you touched me."

The Devil nodded. "Just re-emphasizing for effect," he said. "How would you like to go back…and destroy him once again?"

Athena squinted her eyes. "What do you have against Erik?" She asked.

The Devil shrugged. "Nothing in particular," he admitted. "I just want your soul. And also, to teach that Charles a lesson not to mettle."

"Do you make a habit out of teaching Angels lessons?" Athena asked.

The Devil's eyes darkened. "When necessary," he said curtly. Then, more pleasantly, "Do we have a deal?"

Athena thought. "What if I say no?"

The Devil shrugged. "Then you will be judged and probably end up here anyway."

"So why even bother offering me this?"

"I like to cause trouble," The Devil said. "Obviously."

"If I go back, I'd like one more thing possible," Athena informed him.

"And that is?"

"I want to know where Erik is, at all times."

The Devil snapped his fingers. "Done."

Athena took a deep breath. She was already damned, so her actions now were meaningless, right?

And why not indulge in one last vengeful act against the man who had wronged her?

"I believe we have a deal," Athena said, extending her hand.

The Devil shook it.

"Now I have a request," he said.

"You're supposed to make requests before the deal is made," Athena told him.

"I don't think you'll have a problem with this," he replied, pulling a stunning red cape from the air.

Athena looked confused. "You want me to wear this?" She asked.

The Devil smiled. "Yes," he said, his voice hissing. "For effect."


	23. Finding Charles

**_Thanks for being patient, everyone! It turns out that I needed surgery to correct the damage on my hand and without the use of my right hand typing takes extra long. ;) _**

**_We've just about reached the crescendo...I hope you guys like it!_**

**_ I apologize for taking so long! Bear with me!_**

**_-Nico_**

**_This chapter resumes at Athena's entrance into Christine's rooms... all I'm going to say is...you guys need to trust Erik's instincts..._**

**_;)  
_**

**_

* * *

_**

M. Firmin narrowed his eyes at the breathtaking woman still standing in the entryway of Christine's quarters.

There was something about her that frightened the portly manager down to his bones.

"What do you know of the Phantom?" Firmin asked, watching as the woman's eyes darkened slightly at the mention of the opera ghost.

Athena inspected a gloved hand, appearing bored. "More than you would think," she told the room of men. "And I shall help you find him immediately, under one condition."

"He's been evading us for years, Madame," Andre said, rolling his eyes. "What makes you so certain you'll be able to find him?"

Athena smiled. "I can only promise you that if you agree to my condition that you will have your precious phantom."

"What is your condition?" Firmin asked, intrigued.

Athena's dark eyes flashed up at him. "I wish to be the one that kills him."

Several of the armed guards laughed at her request.

"Am I amusing you, gentlemen?" Athena demanded.

"Madame," Andre began tiredly. "While I appreciate your willingness to assist us in this particular situation, I do not believe anyone would grant a woman the right to kill someone. Even if it is the Phantom in question."

Athena nodded. She had suspected these pig-headed men would react as such.

"Very well," she said lowly. "I came here to allow you all to take part in finding Erik. I know how incredibly _important_ it is to all of you. However, I suppose I will have to take care of this particular matter myself."

She placed the hood back atop her curls and smiled. "Good night, gentlemen. Try not to be too disappointed when I accomplish what none of you have yet been able to."

The men watched as Athena swept out of the room, her stride purposeful.

Firmin looked at Andre.

"Who's Erik?" He wondered aloud.

* * *

Christine looked over her shoulder from the driver's bench of the black carriage Erik had stolen from the Opera Populaire. She was certain that any moment, a barricade of police and angry Opera personnel would appear behind them.

But as Erik deftly navigated the cobblestoned streets of Paris, no such mob appeared. As they came to the outskirts of the city, Christine finally allowed herself to look forward instead of back.

"I think that we did it," Christine said, looking to her left, where Erik was concentrating on leading the enormous black stallions that pulled the carriage. "I think we escaped."

"They will continue to search for us," Erik told her, his voice slightly tense. "We are not safe yet."

Christine nodded and bit her lip. "Where are we going, Erik?"

"To the cemetery," he said without missing a beat. "We will speak to your father."

Christine blinked. "Father?" She questioned. "Why will he be at the cemetery?"

Erik looked over at her, a small smirk on his lips. "That's usually where you find people in his condition, my darling."

Christine swatted his arm.

"I assume Charles will realize we had to leave the Opera," Erik continued. "And I'm hoping he'll be able to enlighten us as to what to do next."

"I thought you had a plan," Christine said.

"I do," Erik replied, looking over at her with an expression caught between a smile and anxiety. "This is it."

A nervous clutching sensation tore at Christine's stomach. Would she and Erik ever be free to enjoy a life of security…to love each other without fear of persecution?

At the moment, the answer to that question appeared to be a resounding 'no.'

In less than 15 minutes, Erik navigated the carriage to the rear entrance to the cemetery, hiding the bulky mode of transportation behind some particularly large stone monuments.

"Don't you think we should just keep going?" Christine asked as Erik helped her down from her seat.

Erik shook his head. "I will not let anything happen to you, Christine," he told her, drawing her into his arms. "And the only way I can be certain where to go from here is to confer with your father. He has not led me wrong yet."

Christine's brow furrowed in fear. Erik kissed the wrinkles away.

"I know you wish to continue running, Christine," he told her. "But something in my heart tells me that we need to be here."

Christine nodded. "I trust your instincts, Erik."

He smiled briefly and then took her small hand, leading her down familiar passageways throughout the cemetery until the enormous Daae mausoleum came into sight.

Christine's breath caught in her throat. So many of her sleepless nights had been spent on the steps of her father's tomb, weeping onto the polished stone. As she got closer, she could see the last bouquet of flowers she had placed against the tightly sealed doors, now withered and dying.

Erik squeezed her hand in a reassuring manner. "Call to him," the masked man instructed her softly.

Christine nodded, swallowing against the lump that threatened to overwhelm her voice. "Papa?" She called out timidly. "Papa, are you there?"

The swirl of mist that immediately followed Christine's question began to take shape slowly. At first, relief swelled through Christine's body as she assumed that the magical smoke would eventually materialize into her father's familiar form…but after several moments, both she and Erik realized that something was terribly wrong.

Instead of Charles, the form of an unfamiliar man began to take shape. Christine clutched Erik's arm as she took in the man's short, dark hair…his impressive black clothing…and finally, the obsidian eyes that were staring at her with an expression hovering somewhere between amusement and threat.

Erik smoothly moved Christine behind his body, blocking her from potential harm. "Who are you?" Erik demanded loudly. "What do you want?"

"Hello Erik," the man said cordially. "You've been causing quite an uproar in my neck of the woods lately. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

The stranger extended his hand for Erik to grasp.

Erik did not move, his eyes remaining narrowed. "Where is Charles?" He demanded.

The man laughed. "That foolish ghost has done nothing but lead you into trouble for the past several months. I can't imagine why you would want to see him again."

Erik remained silent.

The man sighed. "Very well," he sighed. "I can see that we're not going to get anywhere until you see your precious Charles."

With a flick of his delicate wrist, the man suddenly produced another apparition by his side, this time in the form of Charles, kneeling and bound by fluttery, gold chains that appeared to be not of this world.

"Papa!" Christine shrieked, making an instinctive lunge for her father. Erik's strong arm came out, gently pulling her back. "Let him go!" She shrieked, trying to free herself from Erik's grasp.

"Christine, don't worry about me!" Charles said. "Just get out of here!"

The stranger looked down at Charles. "I knew I was forgetting _something_," he said. With another fluid gesture, a gag appeared in Charles's mouth, rendering him silent save a few fruitless grunts of frustration.

"Who are you?" Christine demanded, her anger over seeing her father bound and gagged overwhelming the sense of reason telling her to remain silent.

The man rolled his eyes and allowed his head to fall back in aggravation. "With all the stories you humans make up about me and how perfectly _terrible_ I am, you would think you'd recognize me when you saw me."

He looked at Christine and Erik and then sighed again. "Alright, alright," the man said. "But just this once."

In a flurry of smoke and flame, the handsome man suddenly transformed into a snarling, raging red beast, his sharp teeth bared and muscular arms poised for attack. His forked tongue darted over his chapped lips and a thin, red, rat-like tail twitched impatiently behind him.

"Do you recognize me now?" The beast roared.

Christine clutched at Erik. "The Devil," she rasped.

As soon as the identification was correctly made, the man transformed back to his more human appearance. "Pretty impressive, no?" He asked, adjusting his already perfect cravat.

"What do you want?" Erik demanded.

The Devil's eyebrows shot up. "What makes you think I want anything from _you_?" He asked.

Erik's brow furrowed, taken aback.

"No, no," the Devil shook his head. "I'm after a much bigger prize." He walked closer to the pair. "Did you know that pure evil is one of the most difficult things to find, let alone own?"

Erik and Christine remained silent, but listened.

"I have found pure evil," The Devil whispered. Then, looking pointedly at Erik added, "and I think that you're already well acquainted with it."

"What are you talking about?" Erik demanded through clenched teeth.

The Devil smiled. "Perhaps it would be best to let _her_ explain," he said smoothly.

Both Erik and Christine watched as a figure draped in a crimson red cape emerged from behind the tomb. As the figure approached, it became apparent that it was female by the sway in her hips and the hint of bright red lipstick smeared across her lips.

The couple's wordless questions were answered as small, pale hands came up to gently push the hood back from her face.

"Oh my God," Christine whispered. "Athena."

Athena smiled at Erik and Christine. "Hello, darling husband," she said seductively. Then, moving her gaze to Christine added, "I'm glad to see you remember me."

Athena turned her attention to the Devil. "I think it would be best to kill her first," she said offhandedly, gesturing to Christine. "That way, the last thing Erik will hear before I kill _him_ will be the death rattle of his precious Christine."


	24. Forgiveness, If You Ask

**_Thank you all for being so patient! I now have movement of four of my five fingers on my right hand. I believe I will be able to update more frequently now, although typing without a thumb is still taking some getting used to!_**

**_I've had three surgeries since that last chapter and have really been missing the wonderful feedback I've been getting on this story. I have to admit, it's been my favorite to write!_**

**_This is by no means the last chapter!_**

**_On with the show!_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

The Devil's eyebrows shot up. "My, my," he said sardonically. "That's a _very_ vicious plan, Athena. Bravo."

He clapped pale hands together in approval.

"What's going on?" Erik growled, moving in front of Christine in a decidedly protective stance. "I want answers. Now."

The Devil stalked a bit closer towards Erik, his face still twisted into a mocking smile. He stopped just in front of Erik, who stood to his full height, refusing to be intimidated by the entity before him.

He had stared down evil enough times in his life to no longer be frightened.

"Erik, Erik, Erik," The Devil said softly, clasping his hands behind his back and inspecting the masked man before him. "You were to be my greatest accomplishment. Whatever happened?"

"What are you talking about?" Erik demanded, his voice low.

The Devil smiled. With a small gesture, the mask covering Erik's face vanished, leaving him feeling impossibly exposed. Yet, instead of moving his hands to protect his gnarled skin, he kept them behind his body, still protecting Christine.

The Devil moved a finger down the side of Erik's face, causing him to wince as raw heat came into contact with the already damaged skin. "Did you honestly think you were just born unlucky, Erik?"

"Leave him alone," Christine demanded, fighting to get around Erik but being held back by him.

"Everything about you…your scars…your unfortunate childhood…_everything_ that happened to you was supposed to mold you into a monster," The Devil continued. "A monster I would gladly accept as my…what's that horrible expression? Ah yes…my 'right hand man'."

Athena snickered to herself, watching the scene unfold before her with unabashed giddiness.

"You were well on your way to becoming such a beast too," The Devil continued, moving his graceful hand once more, painfully wrenching Erik away from Christine. Another fluid motion brought Christine's chin to The Devil's fingertip. "Until this little beauty ruined everything by making you fall in love with her."

"Don't touch her," Erik warned, his body locked motionless by unseen chains.

"And I watched," The Devil continued. "I watched as she sang, melting your heart…melting the heart I had so carefullycarved into stone."

For the first time, The Devil turned his attention to the frightened woman before him. "Did you know what you were doing, Christine?" He asked her. "Did you know that you were spoiling all my fun?"

His voice had taken on a strange quality, as if he was talking to a naughty child.

"Stop this!" Erik roared. Charles flailed against his chains, screaming curses at the Devil through the gag still lodged in his throat.

Christine met her eyes with The Devils', whom was apparently still expecting her to answer.

"You would have failed in your project with or without me," she said through gritted teeth. "Erik has more strength in his heart than you could ever hope to possess in your entire body."

The Devil's eyes darkened. "Is that so?" He said quietly.

Christine felt an invisible force tighten around her throat, but she nodded, refusing to show any sign of weakness.

"Athena," The Devil said evenly, his eyes never leaving Christine's, "Change of plans, my darling. You will kill Erik first and make Christine watch. We will show her just how easy it actually is to destroy her precious Erik's strength."

"As you wish," Athena said, moving slowly to the incapacitated man, a thin rope in her hands behind her back.

"No!" Christine shrieked, the sound piercing through the air, causing The Devil to wince and momentarily lose his grip on Christine, who took advantage of the opportunity by rushing in front of Erik, plastering her body against his own, protecting him from Athena, whose eyes darkened as she regarded the small woman before her.

"Move, you little twit," Athena demanded.

"No," Christine shook her head vehemently. "Athena, stop this…there's still time…there's still time to save yourself…"

Athena blinked, yet she scoffed. "I am already damned," she hissed. "I have nothing to lose."

"Wait!" Christine shrieked again. "Think about this, Athena!"

Athena scoffed again, yet the rope remained stationary at her side.

"You loved him once," Christine continued, her breath harsh in her throat. "You loved him in that life, I know you did…is there not one ounce…one speck of that love within your heart now?"

Tears had suddenly sprung to Athena's eyes and she swiped at them furiously. "No, not a speck," she said, yet her voice betrayed her.

"I know that's not true," Christine pressed.

"How do you know such things?" Athena suddenly shrieked, her eyes blazing with an uncontrollable rage. "How do you know I can't wrap this rope around his throat…how do you know I won't laugh as I squeeze the last breath from his lungs?"

Christine swallowed hard. "I don't know," she admitted. "I suppose I'm hoping that you will realize that you're in control of your fate, Athena…and that there is always forgiveness, if you ask for it."

"Don't listen to her, Athena," The Devil suddenly said, his voice sounding choked and panicked.

"Ask for forgiveness, Athena," Christine pressed. "And leave this man to the love he never had but always deserved."

Athena looked at Christine for several long moments and then finally to the rope at her side. With a small sound of defeat, the rope fell to the ground. "Dear God," Athena whispered, suddenly sounding frightened. "Dear God, what have I done?"

Almost instantly, a brilliant flash of light threw Erik and Christine to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Erik could see that The Devil and Athena had suffered similar fates, now struggling to gain their footing against the immense light and equally powerful warmth spreading over the scene.

Charles felt his hands come free from their chains, his mouth suddenly void of the restraint that had been choking him. He moved rapidly to where Erik was protectively embracing his daughter.

He barely registered the feel of her flesh beneath him as he quickly embraced her as well.

The Devil was kneeling beneath the all-encompassing white light. His mouth was curved into a smile, although anyone could see from his stance that he had been defeated.

Black mist began to swirl at The Devil's feet, his form dissipating in the air.

"What's happening?" Christine whispered to her father.

Charles smiled.

"Divine intervention is merely another opportunity," Charles said softly. "And it appears this is one opportunity He didn't see fit to pass up."

Swirling black smoke suddenly clouded the scene, momentarily blocking out the powerful light as The Devil completely disappeared in a blast of menacing, yetdiminishing,laughter.

As the smoke gave way to the light, Christine, Erik and Charles watched wordlessly as the light intensified around Athena, causing her to fall to her knees in a weeping form of prayer.

Christine closed her eyes.

"Forgive her," she whispered.

When she opened her eyes, she met Athena's, which had softened to a light blue. The women stared at each other for a moment before Athena mouthed two simple words.

_Thank you._

And then, what was once Athena Mansart was now a thousand shimmering particles, swooping rapidly into the brilliant white light that had come to offer forgiveness.


	25. Request

**_I've always wanted to write a more "religious" POTO. I mean, there are so many images of good/evil in POTO, how could I not "go there?" _**

**_As I am not really a religious person myself, I tried to strike a balance between Suspention of Disbelief and realistic emotions and situations. Hopefully, you were all able to feel both sides of that coin. _**

**_There is an epilogue to this story, but I'm not sure if I will post it. Having just re-read this chapter, it may be a good place to end. _**

**_Thanks to all of you for sticking with me, especially through the small hiatus caused by my hand injury!_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

****

Christine breathed heavily into Erik's shirt, shielding her eyes from the plume of light that gently recessed into darkness as Athena disappeared.

She did not pull away until she heard a familiar voice.

"Dear God. What on earth was that?"

Christine felt Erik's hands tense around her as Raoul spoke. Slowly, Christine pulled her face away from the protection of Erik's shirt to face the crowd that had followed Raoul to the cemetery in pursuit of the dreaded Phantom of the Opera.

Having just witnessed the finale to a battle between forces much greater than themselves, however, the crowd now stood slack-jawed, weapons forgotten in limp hands and impromptu piles on the cemetery ground.

Raoul looked more confused than most. It was obvious he had struggled through the labyrinth searching for Christine; his clothes were damp…his hair had come loose from its confines, swinging limply in his pale face, which was speckled with sweat from exertion.

"Christine?" He said meekly, his face twisted in some unidentifiable emotion as his eyes trailed to Erik's hands, which were still wrapped protectively around Christine's waist as they kneeled together. Slowly, Raoul's eyes traveled to another, more surprising figure. He swallowed hard. "_Charles?"_

Christine looked over her shoulder. Standing still, his eyes wide as he regarded his shaking hands in front of him, was her father.

Christine rose slowly, a small, trembling hand coming out to brush her father's fingertips…

Which were warm.

"Papa?" She whispered, now grasping his hand. The older man looked at his daughter, tears springing to his eyes.

"It seems," Charles whispered, "that someone has seen fit to offer me a second chance as well."

Christine yelped a shriek of joy before embracing her father's form, which was undoubtedly teaming with restored life.

Erik stood back slightly from the scene, meeting his eyes with Raoul's, who was still standing just in front of a now dissipating mob whose disinterest in meddling with anything supernatural was apparent by the hasty exits some of the more religious persons were currently executing.

Christine placed a warm kiss on her father's cheek and then turned slightly, regarding the scene before her. Purposefully, she reached out, taking Erik's hand within her own.

"Raoul," she said, her voice sounding stronger than she had anticipated. "This is Erik Mansart," she introduced him.

Raoul blinked. "He…He's…the Phantom."

Christine looked over at Erik, whose eyes had darkened slightly. His scarred face was still without a mask, revealing his terrible deformity to Raoul for the first time.

"He is no Phantom," Christine disagreed.

Raoul shook his head, which was swimming with too many thoughts to decipher just one.

Christine brought Erik's hand to her lips briefly, nodding her reassurance as she dropped his hand and moved closer to Raoul.

"I'm sorry," she told her childhood friend earnestly. "But I cannot marry you, Raoul."

Raoul lifted his eyes to hers. "Why?" He asked, although he already knew the answer.

Christine lifted her chin. She would not lie to this man, who had always been there for her. "I am in love with Erik," she said. "I always have been."

She looked back at the man she was talking about, who was standing with his hands clenched at his sides, his chest swelling with her words.

"It just took me too long to realize it," Christine continued, turning back to Raoul. "You have every right to hate me, Raoul," she continued, placing a hand on Raoul's damp arm.

"I don't hate you," Raoul whispered. "I could never hate you."

Christine smiled sadly.

Raoul sighed, looking over at Erik. "Do you love her?" Raoul asked him, his voice a bit harsher than he had intended.

Erik held his head up. "Yes," he said. "More than life itself."

Raoul nodded curtly and turned to the few brave individuals who had elected to stay behind him. "I've made a mistake, gentlemen," Raoul said, his voice once again smooth and authoritative. "It is obvious that there is no Phantom, and there never was."

Christine felt relief swoop into her chest. "Thank you, Raoul," she said quietly. Raoul merely smiled tightlyand took her hand in his.

"If I had not witnessed what I did just moments ago, I would have never stopped fighting for you," he told Christine, loud enough for Erik to hear. "Yet," he sighed, "I would be a fool to not realize what extraordinary lengths the universe has gone to to bring the two of you together."

Tears once again sprang to the young man's eyes and he quickly dropped Christine's hand, turning away and leaving before anyone could see the emotion he was struggling to withhold.

With just a few backwards glances, the rest of the gathering dispersed, leaving Christine standing before the two men she loved more than anything in the world.

"Is it possible," she whispered, tears of joy spreading down her face, "that I have everything I've ever wanted?"

She moved closer to her father, grasping one of his hands with her right, and taking Erik's in her left.

For a moment, the three merely stood, overwhelmed and exhausted by the magnitude of their now complete adventure.

Charles squeezed his daughter's hand. "I'll go get the carriage," he said softly, looking at his surroundings. "I've spent enough time in this cemetery."

Despite herself,Christine laughed as she watched her father go.

She turned to the man whose hand was still clasped protectively within her own. Christine pulled herself closer to him, reveling in the scent of his skin through his shirt, the comfort of his hands as they soothed down to the small of her back.

"I really have you," Erik said, his voice sounding uncharacteristicallysmall and full of disbelief. Christine craned her neck up to look at him.

"Yes," she said, smiling sweetly. "You really do."

Slowly, Erik brought his lips down to hers in a gentle caress that quickly intensified with the realization that this would finally be forever.

Christine pulled away breathlessly. "I have a small request," she said suddenly.

Erik let his lips trail against her throat. "Anything," he whispered against the pale column of her neck, eliciting a shiver.

She pulled his face from her collarbone. She wanted his full attention. "You must never leave my side," she told him sternly, cradling his face in her hands. "You are simply not allowed."

Erik laughed and dipped his head to kiss her once more. "I believe," he said between kisses, "that I will have no problem granting such a request."


End file.
